The Reluctant Queen
by an-extraordinary-muse
Summary: Oliver Queen's life is irrevocably changed the day Felicity Smoak sets foot in his office. And it has surprisingly little to do with the fact that the first time they meet, she's blackmailing him into a marriage. The Bratva didn't prepare him for this (and Digg is never going to let him forget it).
1. Prologue

_**Author's Note: Well hello! So let me start by saying that this is an AU, and I've never written a multi-chapter AU before. I don't want to give a lot away, but these are the two main things you should know about this story: it focuses heavily on the fact that Oliver is a member of the Bratva, and the Queen's Gambit still sank. Everything else will be explained (in time). **_

_**Let me know what you think!**_

_**Spoilers: None. **_

_**Disclaimer: Arrow is not mine. I'm not making any money off of this work of fiction; please don't sue. **_

* * *

><p><strong><span>Prologue<span>**

* * *

><p>Felicity's heart was crashing into her ribcage so hard it hurt. As quietly as she could, the blonde ducked into an alleyway and sought out the darkest corner. She pushed herself into the brick wall there and sucked in a huge breath, and then held it. She willed the blood to stop pounding in her ears long enough for her to listen for footsteps.<p>

There were none.

No one had followed her. When her lungs were threatening to combust she exhaled slowly and closed her eyes for the longest second that she dared. Her hand clenched painfully around the USB drive she held.

Felicity drew comfort from the inanimate object. She had a plan, and her plan was going to work.

She refused to entertain the idea of what would happen if it didn't.

On impulse, Felicity pulled the collar of her blouse away from her neck and shoved the USB into the space between her breasts. She readjusted her bra to make sure that it wouldn't fall out, and then she peeked around the corner of the alley and out into the street.

No one was out at nearly two in the morning.

Panting more from adrenaline and fear than exertion, Felicity half-jogged the next two blocks and then swung wildly into a parking garage. She tucked herself against one of the wide support columns and held her breath again.

Still no footsteps; she slipped farther into the parking garage.

Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat by the time Felicity got to her car.

"Mom?" she whispered.

"Felicity?"

Donna Smoak popped up from the shadows that hung in the space between the wall and her daughter's Mini Cooper.

"Are you okay?" Donna asked immediately. She stepped around the car to pull her daughter into a tight hug. "Were you followed?"

Felicity shook her head quickly. Now that she was face to face with her mother, her throat felt closed off. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps. There was more than adrenaline running through her now; there was a real and present fear. What they were doing – what she was about to do – was crazy. Crazy, and desperate, and the Smoak women didn't have another choice. Felicity had to do this and it had to work, but now, standing with her mother, she realized how impossible it all was. She felt like she was breaking down.

Donna hugged her daughter as tightly as she could manage. She ran a hand up and down Felicity's back and tried to blink away the tears in her eyes. As a little girl, Donna could tell when her daughter was going to sob – not cry, but really, truly sob with abandon – by the way she started to pant and choke on air.

Just like she was doing now.

"You can do this, baby," Donna said as evenly as she could manage. "You're brilliant, and this plan is going to work."

"But what if it doesn't, mom? I can't just leave you here and -."

"Listen to me, Felicity Meghan Smoak." Donna pulled back and put both of her hands on her daughter's cheeks. "You are going get in this car and leave this city, forever. Promise me that you won't come back, baby. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you can't come back."

"Mom …"

"Promise me, Felicity."

Her daughter was crying now, and her tears brought out the ones that Donna had fought so hard to hide.

"I promise, mom. And I promise that I'll get you out of here, just as soon as I can."

"I know you will, baby. Now, your suitcases are in the trunk and I've switched the plates, just like you told me to. All of your gadgets are under the passenger seat."

"Thank you," Felicity whispered.

"Don't ever forget that I love you, Felicity. You're my favorite thing in the world, baby girl. My very favorite thing."

Felicity allowed herself a handful of moments to sob into her mother's shoulder. She couldn't count how many times she'd done the same thing over the years, or how many times Donna had played with the ends of her hair until she calmed down; there was every possibility that this was the last time either of those things would happen.

"I love you, mom."

"I love you, too. Now get in that car."

Afterward, Felicity didn't remember the pinpoints of multi-colored lights that flickered in her rear view mirror as she fled Las Vegas; all she remembered was thinking that the air had turned to ash in her lungs, and that her heart was breaking.

* * *

><p>"I will not be responsible for whatever revenge your sister exacts on you if you cancel dinner with her again."<p>

Oliver tore tired eyes away from the financial report in his hand. He blinked and squinted until his vision was focused again.

John Diggle was standing just inside the glass door of his office, hands clasped in front of him. He didn't look impressed.

"Dinner?" Oliver repeated. He glanced at his watch. "No. It can't be six already. When did that happen?"

"The same time it happens every night, Oliver," Diggle answered dryly.

Oliver glared at his friend and bodyguard. "I said seven, right? I know I told Raisa seven tonight."

"You did, which is why I'm here an hour early to remind you."

"Oh, of course," Oliver deadpanned. "That's why. I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Raisa promised to make her best filet mignon for dinner."

Diggle's mouth pulled back into a smirk. "Did she? What a coincidence."

Oliver shook his head good-naturedly and stood. He dropped the financial report onto the top of his desk with a loud thwack, relieved to be done with it for the night, and tugged his suit jacket off the back of his chair. Dinner and a movie with Thea sounded like the perfect reprieve from a day of office drudgery.

The hurried staccato of heels on marble drew him up short. Oliver glanced to the door of his glass office just in time to see it swing open. The blonde woman who accompanied the clicking heels practically barreled into the middle of the room, straight passed a surprised Diggle.

Diggle recovered quickly, "Stop," he commanded.

The woman stopped mid-stride. She glanced at Digg over her shoulder and then turned wide, almost wild eyes on Oliver.

"Are you all right?" Oliver ventured carefully.

He took stock of her appearance. She was dressed casually, but her clothes were nice. Despite the noise that they had created on her arrival, her shoes were flat. Her eyes were blue behind her glasses, and clearly said that she'd spent no small amount of time crying.

The tiny woman – because she was tiny – sucked in a huge breath and then squared her shoulders. Oliver had seen his sister do the same thing when she was preparing for a fight, and he tensed automatically.

"My name is Felicity Smoak," she started. Her voice was quiet, but firm. Resolute. "And I'm here to make a deal."

No one spoke.

Then, perhaps stupidly, Oliver said, "What?"

Felicity Smoak ignored him in favor of glancing back at Diggle. "Don't shoot me," she told him. "I'm going to pull a file out of my purse."

"Shoot you?" Diggle repeated. His eyes narrowed.

"You were about to reach for the gun in your waist band, weren't you?" The way she said it made it clear she wasn't really asking a question. "Just don't shoot me. I promise I'm not armed."

Oliver let go of the collar of his coat and stepped slowly around the desk. Felicity turned so that she could keep both him and Diggle in her line of sight and watched both of them warily.

What the hell? Oliver thought.

"He won't hurt you, Felicity." Oliver kept his tone neutral. Her name felt strange on his tongue.

"Promise?"

Oliver's disbelief must have shown on his face, because all of the air and the fight seemed to leak out of her then. Felicity's shoulders sagged heavily and she blew out a gust of air.

"It's just, I've had a pretty terrible seventy two hours and I really don't want to end it with a bullet in my chest. Or brain. Or anywhere, really, but I'm sure you understood what I meant the first time around. The point is, this week has been filled with a whole lot of suck for me, okay?"

Oliver stared at her, stunned. He had half a mind to pinch himself, because this whole situation was too bizarre to be real. He must have fallen asleep at his desk with that damned financial report in his hand.

"I'm not going to shoot you," Digg said finally. Oliver glanced away from the woman long enough to see that his friend was smiling.

"Thanks for that. Anyway, moving on."

Felicity pulled a manila folder out of the purse slung over her shoulder. She held it tightly in both hands and then held it a few inches away from her chest. Oliver recognized that she wasn't offering it to him; she was more using at as a shield, an ineffectual barrier between them.

"I'm here to make a deal," Felicity started again. "With Oliver Queen."

"And what is it you want, Felicity?" Oliver queried. "Money? Fame?"

She tipped her head to the side and fixed him with a scowl. The expression was so incongruous, so out of place in the situation that Oliver nearly smiled.

Who the hell was this woman?

"Protection," Felicity stated. "For myself, and my mother. Donna."

Against all rationale and good sense, Oliver felt himself being drawn in. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and schooled his expression into the one that Thea had labeled "bland businessman". He had no idea what to expect from this situation, but he knew that he didn't want to give away the fact that she had piqued his interest.

"Protection from whom?"

"Someone who wouldn't hesitate to put me six feet in the ground."

Oliver's eyebrows hiked into his hairline. "And you think that the CEO of Queen Consolidated can you protect you from this person?"

"No." Felicity inhaled, and then offered him the manila folder. "But I know that a Captain of the Russian mafia can."

Shocked, Oliver reached for the folder on autopilot. There was no way that she could have just said what he thought she'd said. Except that when he looked at Digg, all of the amusement in his bodyguard's face had been replaced by suspicion.

This was definitely real; there was no way he'd have a dream this preposterous.

When Oliver took hold of the folder, the tremors that radiated down the object made him realize that Felicity was trembling.

He didn't have to open the folder – he already had a good idea of what was inside – but he did so anyway. Sure enough, it was full of documents that linked him irrevocably to the Russian mafia.

"Oliver Queen," Felicity recited, as though she knew the information by heart. "Captain of the Bratva, and the only American to earn such a high rank in the last fifty years or more, depending on where you get your information. There's no evidence that you had dealings with the Brotherhood until two years ago, when you came back from the dead. Obviously you weren't lost at sea for the entirety of those five years."

Oliver clenched his jaw and fixed hard eyes on the woman who still stood in the middle of his office. The sun was setting outside his windows, heralding the end of the day; and what an end it was.

He was being blackmailed. Unbelievable.

"And what deal is it you expect me to make, Felicity? Your silence, in exchange for what?"

Without the folder to hold on to, Felicity began to fidget. She tugged at the fingers of one hand with the other and shifted her weight onto one foot.

"Protection," she breathed, as terrified again as she had been on that mad dash to her car. "Through marriage."

The bark of laughter that emanated from Diggle's throat was loud, and harsh in the silence that had accompanied her words. The sound made Felicity jump. She focused on her shoes – her favorite pair of panda flats – and tried to drum up the last dregs of her courage.

This plan was crazy. She knew that it was crazy, but it had to work, because her life depended on it. Her mother's life depended on it.

"Marriage," Oliver repeated.

"Yes."

Oliver had spent years honing his body into a weapon. He had learned how to use his bulk and naturally somber expression to his advantage, and used that knowledge when it was necessary - like now. He crossed the distance that separated him from Felicity Smoak and stepped so far into her personal space that she had to crane her head back to look at him.

She didn't move. She fixed him with the fiercest glare she could muster and squared her shoulders. Felicity would not let this man intimidate her; she would not forfeit her life, and the life of her mother, because she didn't have the backbone to hold her ground.

"You think you can just stroll into my office and blackmail me, Felicity?" Oliver's voice was a growl.

"No, but I hope I can."

"And what makes you brave enough to try? Why are you here?"

"Because I want to save my mother's life."

There were tears in her eyes. The translucent sheen of them brought Oliver back to the reality of the situation: this woman was obviously terrified, and desperate. The way she was looking at him now was familiar, because he had seen that same expression in the eyes of wild animals that had been backed into a corner.

Felicity Smoak was clearly on her last leg, and Oliver had a sinking suspicion that if he turned her down now – if this insane plan of hers didn't work – she'd give up.

"I know that we don't know each other, but believe me when I say that I don't want to die. I don't want my mother to die. And I am out of options. Please, Mr. Queen."

"Mr. Queen was my father."

"Right, but he died. I mean, he drowned. But you didn't. And I'm just going to stop talking now."

Just like that, Oliver's tried and true intimidation method fell flat. He let go of his glare and stepped away, tossing the folder of evidence down on the couch near him.

"Alright, Felicity. Say I agreed to this … ridiculous idea of yours. What would the terms be?"

"In exchange for your protection of myself and my mother, I'll destroy all of that," Felicity said, pointing at the discarded folder, "And any other evidence of your entanglement with the Bratva, for as long as the marriage stands."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Diggle interjected. He did not look happy about the conversation.

"Well, I'm a genius." There was no boasting in her tone. "And I could hack any system in this city from my tablet, in my sleep."

Diggle crossed his arms over his chest but said nothing.

"And the marriage?" Oliver prodded.

"Fake, of course. I'll forge the marriage certificate and any other necessary documents. You can draw up whatever pre-nup you want and I'll sign it, no questions asked. You can lock me away in a tower, for all I care, as long as I stay in the city."

"Sex?"

Oliver said it just to see what kind of reaction he could get, and he wasn't disappointed. She didn't blush, but she did fidget and shift her weight uncertainly from one foot to the other again. If he didn't know better, Oliver would think she was glaring at him again.

"Uh, between us? Yeah, that won't be happening. Ever."

"Oh?"

"But you can have sex with whoever you want," Felicity rushed to add. "I won't be going to the press screaming about infidelity, if that's what you're wondering. I don't care what you do, or who you do it with, as long as my mother is safe."

"And what is it you'll be doing, exactly?"

Felicity shot a wary glance at Digg before reaching into her purse and producing another manila folder, and a red USB drive.

"Compiling evidence against this man, and feeding it anonymously to the cops."

Oliver took the second folder. When he opened it, his mouth nearly fell open in surprise.

"Meet Angelo De Luca," Felicity started.

"De facto leader of the Italian mafia presence in America," Oliver finished. He found himself suddenly reevaluating the woman in front of him. "This is the man you're afraid of, the one you want me to protect you from?"

Felicity nodded.

"You do realize that you could be selling yourself into the modern equivalent of slavery, right? You have no idea what kind of person I am, Felicity. How do you know that I'm not just as bad as this man?"

"I don't," she admitted. "Call it a leap of faith, if you want. The point is that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get my mother away from him, and see him imprisoned for the rest of his life. But in order to do that, I need help – your help. I need your protection."

"For how long?"

"Five years, or until De Luca is behind bars. Whichever comes first. At which point, I will destroy those fake marriage documents and walk out of your life forever."

"Why does it have to be marriage?" Diggle asked. He had moved away from the door and now came to stand near them. "Can't Oliver provide protection some other way?"

"No, it has to be marriage," Felicity answered firmly. "I don't know how the Bratva works, but the Italian mafia only respects laws of property. And as a woman without a rank, I'm property. Mr. Que … Oliver may not be Italian, but he is a powerful leader in the Bratva, and they'll respect that. Or they'll be too afraid to challenge him, at any rate. Either way, marrying him will make me virtually untouchable."

"You've certainly given this a lot of thought," Diggle remarked. "And you seem to have more than a passing knowledge of the mafia, Italian or otherwise. Who is this man to you?"

Felicity huffed in displeasure.

Her eyes were burning and she was exhausted. Despite having driven almost non-stop, she hadn't been able to sleep more than three or four hours at a time since her panicked flight from Las Vegas.

All she really wanted was to be done, and to be free. She wanted to know what it was to live without fear again; above all, she wanted her mother, safe and close enough to drive her crazy.

"He's my father," Felicity eventually answered. She waved the memory stick she held through the air. "And this USB is full of information that I stole off of his computer before my mom helped me escape Las Vegas."

Oliver wondered if he was going crazy, because at that moment he felt driven to comfort the woman who had just (successfully) blackmailed him.

"I left my mom in Vegas with my psycho father, who knows that I'm gone by now, and I'm afraid that he's already killed my mom in retaliation." Felicity felt as though she was a doll, stuffed and stitched by hand, and now the seams were pulling apart.

She hadn't realized that she was afraid for her mother's life – any more so than had become usual – until she said the words aloud. The exhaustion and the fear were finally catching up with her, and a fresh wave of tears had started a silent exodus down her cheeks.

How much could she be expected to bear, she wondered?

Oliver felt a real surge of compassion and concern flood him as Felicity started to tremble in earnest.

"Please, Oliver," she begged. "I know that it's crazy and it doesn't make sense, but I need your help. I just want to save my mother. Isn't there anyone in your life you'd do anything for?"

Oliver opened his mouth to make a reply when Digg interrupted.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Digg didn't wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and stalked to the far end of the office.

"You can't seriously be considering this," he hissed when Oliver was in front of him.

"Diggle …"

"This woman could be anyone, Oliver. You heard her claim to be a genius computer hacker – she could have forged any of those documents."

"Maybe, but I don't think she did," Oliver replied. "Look at her, Diggle. She's exhausted and obviously terrified. As crazy as this might seem to us, she's smart, and she's done her homework. Not to mention she claims to have a skillset that we are sorely in need of."

Digg's expression didn't lighten. "If you do this, Oliver, you're asking this girl to get into some pretty dangerous stuff."

"I'd say she's already into some dangerous stuff. And we can protect her."

"How?"

Oliver didn't answer. His eyes traveled to the middle of his office, where Felicity was tracking the cityscape outside the window with her eyes. Diggle was right, and this was crazy.

He was crazy, because he was going to help this woman.

Oliver was not a spiritual man, but what else could he call what they were about to do, except a leap of faith?

Diggle grunted and shook his head. "You just got blackmailed into a fake marriage by a blonde with panda bears on her shoes, didn't you?"

Oliver glanced down at the shoes in question. They did indeed have panda bears on them.

Apparently, reality wasn't just stranger than fiction - it was in another dimension.

"Looks like it."


	2. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note: So, some of you might recognize this story, or at the least the premise for it, and that's because I posted a one-shot teaser for this story in my collection, Us Against Forever. I believe it's chapter two in that collection, and it's also called The Reluctant Queen. So if this seems familiar, that's probably why. Anyway, thank you all for the wonderful response to this! I'm glad that you are as excited to read it as I am to write it. I hope you like this chapter, and I look forward to hearing what you think!**_

* * *

><p><span><strong>Chapter One<strong>

* * *

><p>Someone was screaming.<p>

Well, not screaming, exactly - more like yelling enthusiastically. Felicity couldn't pick out any individual words, but she figured the sentiment was universal.

She flicked her eyes over her shoulder, to where John Diggle was standing. Purposely or not, the bodyguard had placed himself between her and the front door.

"Mother?" Felicity asked. "Angry girlfriend?"

Diggle gave her an appraising look. "Does it matter?"

She opened her mouth to answer, and then shut it with a barely audible snap. Despite what it must look like, and the situation that she had been forced into, Felicity didn't enjoy thinking that she might be upending any more lives than she already had. Oliver Queen was a businessman – whether he was in a boardroom or on a city street – and he had accepted the proposition she'd offered. She couldn't rationally be upset about that because of the very nature of its necessity, but she was distressed by the idea that there might be more players in this morbid drama than she'd allowed for.

Felicity could have said any of those things, but chose not to. Why would this man believe her? He certainly had no reason to, and the expression thinly veiled in his eyes told her that her words would be wasted anyway. John Diggle literally made his living from being suspicious and constantly on guard.

"No, I guess not," Felicity answered after a pause.

In truth, she wasn't in a position to let it matter. As long as Oliver kept up his end of the deal then it wasn't her problem.

The thought was a callous one, and she hated it; just like she hated that she'd left her mother alone in a parking garage on a dumpy side street of Vegas, and that she'd just bartered herself for services, as though she was a thing to be bought and sold.

Felicity hated everything about this, but her life, and her mother's life, hinged on whether or not she could make this plan work.

Had the stakes been any less, the tasks she was attempting to perform now would have been impossible.

A door opened somewhere deeper in the house, and then the yelling was moving inexorably closer.

A slight woman, thinner and slightly taller than Felicity, barreled into the foyer like a hurricane. She zeroed in on Felicity as if she was a hunter, and Felicity was her chosen meal.

Oliver appeared behind the woman just as she veritably dashed in Felicity's direction.

"Thea!"

For her part, Felicity took an automatic step backward and couldn't stop the small squeak of surprise that issued from her throat when she ran into a wall of hard flesh that could only be Oliver's bodyguard. Unable to retreat any further, she pulled her purse away from her side and positioned it against her stomach; a paltry excuse for a shield, or protection of any kind, but one couldn't be choosy when they were about to be eaten by a she-wolf.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Thea snarled.

"Nobody," Felicity blurted. "I mean, I'm not nobody, I'm someone, obviously, and so are you."

Thea – at least, that was what Felicity thought Oliver had called her – stopped short. Her brown eyes widened and she puffed in annoyance before folding her arms over her chest. Her brown hair, long and wavy, settled around her shoulders like a cloud. Felicity thought that she was beautiful; or she would have been, anyway, if she wasn't standing less than five feet away and looking ready to tear into her.

Belatedly, Felicity realized that she had seen this young woman in pictures and news articles when she was researching Oliver: her name was Thea Queen, and she was Oliver's little sister.

"Great, glad that we've gotten that out of the way," Thea sneered.

"Thea," Oliver said warningly.

Felicity licked her lips nervously and tried to put some more distance between her and the other woman. Her effort was undercut by the fact that Diggle had not moved from behind her.

Thea noticed her attempt to move and for the barest second her expression morphed into something that looked less like anger, and more like … well, Felicity wasn't certain. Confusion, maybe, or even pity; the idea that it was the latter option, that she had given Thea Queen any reason to pity her, incensed Felicity. Immediately she straightened her shoulders and cleared her face of any discernible expression.

No one would make her cower.

Behind her, Diggle felt the sudden urge to smile.

"I'm Felicity Smoak. And you are?"

"Don't you mean Felicity Queen? And you already know who I am."

Felicity sidestepped the sarcasm in Thea's tone – and her quip about Felicity's last name - and made sure to keep hers neutral. "I do," she affirmed, "But I was trying to be polite."

The censure in her words was more effective for their lack of sting. Thea seemed young, closer to Felicity's age then to her brother's, and she looked caught between being annoyed at being chastised, and ashamed of her behavior.

Both of those things were ignored in favor of an angry tirade that she turned to direct at her brother.

"This is unbelievable, Ollie. _You_ are unbelievable! This is a new low, even for you. You blow off dinner with me, _again_, and then when you finally show up it's to announce that you have a wife that you've just conveniently forgotten to mention!"

Felicity had been laid low by circumstance. The choices and situations that had driven her into Oliver Queen's office were not of her making, but she was powerless to escape them all the same; she had done much the same as Thea was doing now when she'd learned of the web that had ensnared her.

Underneath the fear and desperation; underneath the calculating and sometimes harsh persona that she might have to occasionally present; Felicity was still the same person at heart, and the same person that her mother had raised. She was soft, and, in some ways, still the vulnerable young woman that Thea Queen seemed to be.

Perhaps it was those realizations that drove her to action; perhaps it was the naked hurt and confusion in Thea's face, or the guilt that stood so starkly in Oliver's eyes that it was a wonder no one else seemed to notice it.

Whatever the reason, Felicity found herself advancing on Thea. She took a small handful of steps until the movement caught the other woman's attention, and didn't stop until Thea had turned her attention back to her.

Her words were dangerous and foolhardy, but Felicity spoke them anyway, because the underlying truth of her had not changed: she cared, and she was not someone who hurt other people needlessly.

Thea Queen was obviously hurt.

"It's not Oliver's fault," Felicity stated cautiously. "And it's not what you think."

Her words were greeted by silence.

"What do you -?"

Thea's question was cut off by Oliver's hand on her shoulder and a very pointed gaze.

"Now is not the time, Thea." His tone brooked no argument.

Thea tried anyway. "She clearly has something to say, Ollie."

"She's also spent the last seventy-two hours driving across the country, Thea. Whatever it is, it can wait."

"You can't just …"

"Thea." Oliver's tone was flat.

"Fine!" Thea acquiesced, throwing up her hands. Then, looking deliberately at Felicity, and then Oliver, "But this is not over."

Thea's footfalls out of the room were not as fast, but no less angry, than the ones that had brought her into the foyer. The moment she was out of sight all of the air escaped Felicity's lungs as if from a popped balloon; her shoulders sagged, and she was acutely aware of a vicious pounding behind her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

Had she been in a better state of mind, it would have occurred to Felicity to be surprised that the question had come from Oliver, and hinted at genuine concern.

That wasn't the case. "Oh, this is just my 'about to hack face'. Are there going to be any other family members for me to fend off in the next several hours, because I have to be honest, I don't think I have it in me to do that again."

"I apologize for my sister's behavior," Oliver began. "She can be a little hotheaded, and I'm afraid I picked a bad time to -."

"Drop a fake sister-in-law that she's never heard of in her lap?" Felicity finished for him. "I don't think there's a right time for that."

Oliver surveyed the woman in his foyer. The island had taught him a lot about the limits of the human body and consciousness, and he could tell by looking at Felicity that she was teetering near the edge of hers. She wasn't lying when she said she didn't have it in her to face another angry family member; Oliver doubted that she had it in her to do much of anything at the moment.

Still, he could admit – privately – that he admired her resolve.

"What would you have told her?"

"What?"

"Thea. What would you have told her, if I hadn't interrupted?"

"Oh. Only that you haven't done anything wrong, and that I'm not some flavor of the week trying to take advantage of her brother."

"Or the Queen family fortune," Oliver added.

"That's also true, but if you think that was her main reason for being angry, then you weren't paying attention."

Stunned, Oliver took a step forward and opened his mouth to shoot off a reply.

"Oliver." Diggle's voice was measured and firm, and it was the first time he'd spoken since Thea's arrival and subsequent departure.

Oliver snapped his mouth shut in silent acknowledgement. Diggle was just as observant as he was, and had undoubtedly come to the same conclusion over Felicity's state of near collapse. Whatever Diggle thought of the situation, and Oliver's agreement to go along with it, he was a naturally considerate person.

"We have a lot to talk about," he stated. "But that can wait until tomorrow. I'll show you to your room."

Oliver headed for the stairs and then stopped when another thought occurred to him.

He turned to Digg. "Raisa has a plate for you in the kitchen."

Diggle knew him well enough to pick up on the smile that wasn't quite there. The other man pursed his lips in his own version of a not-smile and nodded once before leaving.

Oliver had already turned and resumed his trek to the stairs, so he missed the way Felicity's brow furrowed at the exchange.

He didn't speak as he led Felicity down the mansion's wide halls. Her footsteps dragged across the carpet, an audible reminder of the exhaustion that must be eating away at her. Oliver slowed his pace. Thea was always getting on him about how fast he walked and how impossible it was for anyone who wasn't six feet tall to keep up with him.

Oliver had used the drive home to contemplate some of the more easily solved predicaments of this situation. The sleeping arrangements had been one of the first issues he'd resolved.

He stepped into the empty bedroom next to his. Felicity trudged in behind him.

"This will be your room," he informed her. "The en-suite bathroom is over there. It should be stocked with fresh towels."

Felicity nodded. She scanned the room and briefly entertained the idea of telling him how beautiful it was, but Felicity wasn't certain that she had the energy to carry on a conversation. She was well and truly drained.

Then she caught sight of another door, set into the wall opposite the bed. It was standing open.

"Where does that go?"

"My room."

He'd said the words casually, but he watched her closely for a reaction. The only one she gave was the brush of her shoes over the carpet as she moved around him and closed the door.

Oliver actually smirked when he heard the deadbolt click into place.

"Is that really necessary?" He couldn't resist.

The gravity behind her answer took all the humor out of him. "Better safe than sorry."

An irrational anger seized him. Oliver did not fool himself into thinking that he was someone else: he was a hard man, and he'd done things over the years that still kept him awake at night; his hands were not clean. Despite those things, he was not cruel, and he did not tolerate the cruelty of others.

He was, at heart, a protector - a guardian.

Something, he was being given to understand, that Felicity Smoak had not had the benefit of.

"That door only locks from this side," Oliver informed her. "The same goes for your bedroom door. Raisa has a set of keys if you lock yourself out."

"Okay." Felicity nodded.

Oliver was halfway out of her room when he turned back to address her. "Felicity?"

"Hmm?"

She looked at him from behind glasses that had started to slip down her nose; her hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail, but the ends were curled and rested on one shoulder; her lips, painted magenta, offset the pale cream of her blouse. Panda bears smiled at him from the tops of her shoes.

Everything about Felicity was innocuous – pleasant, even. This was clearly not the life and situation that she had been born into or brought up in, so why was she in it now? And why, for the love of all things sane, had Oliver ever let her blackmail him into this scheme?

"We made a deal: your technical skills, for my protection."

"I know. So?" Felicity replied.

"So, I never said I'd only protect you from your father."

That was not what she'd been expecting to hear. "Oh."

Oliver was not a man of many words, but he found himself speaking again anyway. "I don't know where you've been, Felicity, but you're here now. And here is safe."

Tears sprang to her eyes. She had no idea who this man was, not really, and that hadn't stopped her from barging into his office and attempting to blackmail him into pretending to be her husband. She had cajoled him, begged him, and threatened him (albeit in a rather roundabout way); yet, for whatever reason, Oliver Queen had agreed to help her – a woman he didn't know, and had every reason to mistrust. They had made a deal. A business transaction had taken place only hours ago, and the only questions that Oliver had asked pertained directly to what they were attempting to pull off.

Now, sequestered in the bedroom next to his in his family's mansion, he was offering her something that she'd never expected: kindness.

A tear slipped down her cheek. "I … uh …"

Oliver grabbed her doorknob. "Don't forget to lock it."

Then he pulled the door closed and disappeared down the hall.


	3. Chapter 2

**_Author's Note: so a few of you have asked about the update schedule for this work. The truth is that I tend to update whenever/as soon as a chapter is finished and edited. I generally do my best to update twice a week, but sometimes I'm so busy that I only manage to do it once a week, and once a chapter is finished I want to get it to you guys asap. So yeah - there's really not an update schedule for this. Anyway, thank you for your reviews/alerts/favorites/follows, they mean the world to me! _**

* * *

><p>He had expected something like this from her, and therefore was not surprised when she ambushed him at the bottom of the stairs the next morning. Thea was rash and impulsive, certainly, but she was also predictable. Well, mostly predictable, especially in the ways she dealt with arguments that she deemed unfinished.<p>

"Morning, Speedy," Oliver greeted. He swept passed his sister, who had one hand on the banister, and didn't bother to glance behind him.

Sure enough, Thea appeared at his elbow. She was scowling. The glare was rendered less effective by the way she was crow hopping in an attempt to get in front of him and cut him off.

"Don't give me that crap, Ollie. I'm not letting you off the hook, and we're not done talking about this. Where's your wife?"

Thea practically spit the word at him. Oliver ignored the venom in it. "Sleeping."

Oliver didn't stop his trek to the kitchen. He had no way of knowing if Felicity was actually sleeping, and he hadn't stopped to check, but it seemed like a fair assumption given her state the previous evening. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if no one saw her at all that day; even if she didn't sleep for the next twenty-four hours, it wouldn't be so hard to believe that she might not want to come out of that room at all.

_Not that room_, Oliver corrected himself, _her room. Because she lives here now, too_.

_What the hell are you doing, Queen?_

"So you're seriously going with this?" Thea challenged. She used his momentary distraction over the absurdity of the situation to finally plant herself in front of him and stop him with a hand to his chest. "You really expect me to believe that you got married and didn't tell anyone?"

"When did I say I didn't tell anyone?"

Thea opened her mouth, furrowed her brow, and closed it again. Then, darkly, "Did mom know?"

"Thea …"

"Is this one of those problems mom thought could be solved with money? Did she pay this woman to disappear? Or did you get her pregnant and then send her across the world, so that no one would ever find out?"

Oliver clenched his jaw. The accusations hurt, especially falling from his sister's mouth as they did; there had been a time when Thea had thought he could do no wrong, or at least that there was not a wrong that he couldn't fix. His little sister had believed in him, once, and believed in the underlying decency of his character. No matter how the media portrayed him, or what insults a bitter ex threw at him, Thea had always defended him.

Those days appeared to be at an end. Oliver didn't blame her – he was not a man that deserved to be defended – but it stung him to realize that his baby sister and last living family member viewed him in such a harsh light.

"None of those things are true," he ground out. "And when exactly would I have had time to get anyone pregnant?"

At the same time, he made a mental note to ask Felicity whether or not she had children. He hadn't thought to ask before, and even if he had he knew himself well enough to know that he would have dismissed the question as unimportant. Now, with Thea staring him down and her questions ringing in his ears, Oliver chided himself for his stupidity. Thea's first thought – well, one of them anyway – had been that Oliver got Felicity pregnant and then tried to cover it up; the media would undoubtedly jump to the same conclusion. What other reason could there be for a member of Starling City's rich and powerful to suddenly announce a previously unheard of marriage?

"Before the island," Thea answered without missing a beat. "When you were known more for bar and model hopping with Tommy than being the CEO of a family company."

Oliver was irritated now. He clenched one of his hands into a fist and concentrated on the bite of his fingernails into his palm. He took a deep breath and then let it out, unfurling his fist at the same time. Instead, he rubbed his thumb up and down the side of his pointer finger.

"We're done with this conversation, Thea. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to at least get a cup of coffee before I'm late."

He dropped a quick kiss on his sister's cheek and then stepped around her.

"Did mom know?" Thea asked again.

Oliver paused mid-step. He didn't turn around; he didn't need to, to know what expression Thea was wearing. The edge had gone out of her voice enough to expose the hurt that lurked underneath.

His sister was not happy with the situation in general, but her real problem existed in the idea that Moira Queen had known about this secret wife. What Thea really cared about was whether or not this had been another secret that Oliver had shared with their mother, and if that secret had been kept from her.

There was a chance – a good chance, really – that saying that the Queen matriarch had known about the situation would lend credence to the lie. No one would question it if Oliver said that his mother had known; she was his mother, why wouldn't she have known? Better still, anyone who knew the Queen family, and had known his mother, would have no problem believing exactly what Thea seemed to: that Moira had paid Felicity to disappear. Rationally, this lie would have been the easiest to tell, because Moira wasn't there to contradict it, and it would have made sense from a logistical standpoint.

"No," Oliver said with an air of finality. "Mom had no idea."

Oliver walked away. He had made a deal with Felicity, and he would honor that deal: he would lie for her, and with her, and he would protect her; he'd even help her save her mother, if she wanted him to and there was conceivably a way that he could. He would not, however, break his sister's heart again to further someone else's agenda.

Diggle stepped into the kitchen just as Oliver was pouring coffee into a travel mug.

"There a reason I had to come in here looking for you?"

"Thea," Oliver said by way of explanation.

Raisa swooped in on them then. She was humming, but stopped immediately to smile at them.

"Good morning, Mister Oliver," she greeted. "Mister John. May I fix you a plate?"

"Sorry, Raisa, we're late as it is," Oliver answered. His stomach grumbled as if to punctuate just how sorry he was.

Raisa clucked her tongue at them. "That is no good, Mister Oliver." She clasped a hand over one of Diggle's large biceps and gave it a sad squeeze. "You must keep up your strength."

Oliver arched an eyebrow and Diggle laughed. The humor of watching Raisa lament about how they weren't "keeping up their strength" while trying to squeeze a bicep that was nearly as big as her head wasn't lost on either of them.

"We'll get an early lunch," Oliver told her.

"Yes, good, good," Raisa replied. She nodded several times and then began herding them to the door. "Now you must go, Mister Oliver. Do not be late."

Oliver started to protest and point out that he'd left his coffee on the counter when Raisa slapped it into his open palm. She smiled at him once, patted the back of his hand, and then veritably shoved them through the doorway.

Diggle was smirking as they made their way to the town car.

"What are the odds I could get Raisa to come work for me?" he asked.

"She already has a job."

"Scared I'll make her a better offer?"

"Hardly. Raisa'd never leave, she's family. Besides, what would Lyla say?"

"Oh, I dunno. Something along the lines of 'thank you so much, baby, now I'll never have to cook again', I'd imagine."

"I thought Lyla enjoyed cooking?" Oliver retorted as he slid into the back seat of the car.

Diggle waited until he was in the driver's seat to answer. "She does, but not enough to turn down Raisa's help. Or her food. Her filet mignon last night was on point."

"I'm sure." Oliver hadn't had the opportunity to try any of it. After everything that had happened, by the time he'd been able to spare ten minutes to eat it was so late and he was so preoccupied that his appetite had been non-existent.

"So what was Thea on you about so early?"

Oliver glared at his friend in the rearview mirror. "What do you think?"

"And how did that go?"

"Fine, if you don't mind being accused of getting some girl pregnant and then plying her with money until she disappears."

Digg nodded but stayed silent. Oliver used the lapse in conversation to mentally go over his to-do list for the day and sip slowly from his coffee mug.

"That's how the media is going to spin this, you know," Diggle eventually said.

"Well I know that now, yes," Oliver replied. "If that's what my own sister thinks then I'm sure the media won't be far behind. I'll be lucky if that's the only spinning the media does."

"Or Thea," Diggle supplied. "Your sister is smart, and I don't know about the Smoak girl, but you suck at lying, Oliver. How long do you think it'll take Thea to figure out that something's not quite right here? I hate to sound dramatic, man, but this has disaster written all over it."

"I know that," Oliver snapped.

"Then I gotta ask, Oliver. Why are you doing this? I know you want to help this woman, but surely there's some other way you can do that?"

Oliver didn't respond. He turned his gaze out the window and watched the business district slide by. Everything Diggle was saying made sense, and the man had an irritating knack for being right about more things than wrong; everything about the situation screamed "time bomb", and yet he was choosing to ignore that warning.

Why?

He pictured a petite blonde woman in glasses and silly shoes standing in the middle of his office. He saw again the red around her eyes and the way her body had trembled even as she blackmailed him with a straight face; the way that she had asked plainly that Diggle not shoot her, and the way she'd tried to retreat from Thea's charging form.

Felicity Smoak had fled Las Vegas in a haze of fear and driven herself into the belly of a beast a thousand miles away. She had marooned herself in a strange city, armed with only a foolhardy plan that she had no guarantee would work and a dossier full of illegally gathered information. She was alone, and vulnerable, and terrified for her life – and the life of a mother that might already be dead.

That's why Oliver was doing this: because Starling City was landlocked and civilized, but it was Felicity's island. That fear that seemed to permeate her bones and exhaust her without effort was the same fear that Oliver had carried around that first year on the island; it was the fear of knowing that the task at hand was impossible to perform, and that it had to be done anyway.

Oliver had only survived Lian Yu because of Yao Fei; his mentor had long since passed, but Oliver couldn't help feeling that going along with Felicity Smoak's plan – helping her at a time when such help could be the difference between life and death – was the only real way he could honor the other man's memory. What better way to honor one life, he thought, than to save another?

Not that he'd done anything remotely close to saving Felicity's life. No, she seemed to be doing that all on her own, and doing it just fine.

After what felt like a huge time lapse, Oliver answered the question that Digg had posed.

"I understand her fear, Diggle. I lived it. And it wears on you, always feeling like something or someone is coming to get you, and wondering if today will be the last time you wake up. It's like … a lead weight on your shoulders and it drags at you, until eventually moving just feels impossible, and you can't remember why you were trying to in the first place."

Oliver cleared his throat and tugged uncomfortably at his tie. He was not the type to wax philosophical, and he played everything about the island close to the vest. He was mildly embarrassed by the barrage of words and thoughts that had just tumbled from his mouth.

"Okay," Diggle said.

"Okay?"

"Hey man, I get it. Afghanistan wasn't exactly a walk in the park. It's your life, and if you're willing to go along with this to help this woman, then so am I."

Oliver nodded. "Thank you."

In reality, he knew that Diggle was right and that the most probable outcome was complete disaster. Oliver just hoped that, when all was said and done, he hadn't ruined things past the point of saving. Especially where Thea was concerned, because he wasn't certain how many more hits their relationship could take and survive.

The morning was spent in meetings. Oliver was so entrenched in corporate dealings and political maneuvers that he forgot all about the woman playing his fake wife, and his sister's (justified) anger.

He would have forgotten lunch, too, if Diggle hadn't kept his word to Raisa and shown up with a bag from Big Belly Burgers at half past eleven.

"So," Digg started after sipping at his soda. "Making a trip to the Queen family vault after work? Or do I need to stop by the jewelers on the way home?"

Oliver furrowed his brows. "What?"

"Last time I checked, married people wore rings," Diggle retorted, holding up his left hand to draw Oliver's attention to the gold band there. He almost laughed at the consternation on his friend's face. "You didn't even think about that, did you?"

Oliver's only response was a glare.

"Man, if this marriage was real, that's the kinda shit that'll get you sleepin' on the couch for a month."

"It's been twenty-four hours, Digg. Excuse me if I haven't thought of everything yet."

For some reason, the reminder that he would indeed need to pick up a ring for Felicity reminded him of something else he needed to do. He'd had the idea last night, after he'd left Felicity for the night.

Oliver pulled out his phone and then scrolled through his contacts list until he arrived at the right name.

She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey," Oliver greeted. "I've got a job for you."

* * *

><p>For the first time since her days as a rebellious teenager, Felicity slept until early afternoon. Well, it was less like sleeping and more like experiencing a mini-coma, because she didn't so much as shift in her sleep. In fact, she might have slept through an entire day, if it hadn't been for Raisa.<p>

Felicity woke to insistent knocking at a little after one in the afternoon. Her head shot up from the pillow as if it was spring loaded; she held her breath for a moment, knowing that a sound had woken her, but not what the sound had actually been or where it came from.

Raisa knocked again. Felicity's automatic response was to half-slide, half-fall out of the bed and scramble to unlock the door. When she pulled it open her nose was assaulted with a positively delicious array of scents.

Raisa was smiling. "I know you had long night, Mrs. Queen, but you must eat now."

Felicity blinked owlishly. Raisa was already partway over the threshold, hands weighed down by a polished silver platter, and so she had no choice but to step back.

Mrs. Queen? Oh!

"Your suitcases are in the hall, I gave strict orders that you were not to be disturbed, but now you must really eat. Can I bring you anything else, Mrs. Queen?"

Felicity was dumbfounded for a second. The woman in front of her was smiling kindly, and didn't seem in the least bit curious – or confused – as to why her door had been locked, or why she wasn't in Oliver's room, or even why the door adjoining their rooms was locked (if she'd even noticed); she was simply standing there, smiling at Felicity as if she was an old friend and there was nothing remotely odd about the situation.

In a way, it was reassuring. The less questions that were asked, the less Felicity had to answer – and lie.

"Uh, I'm sorry," Felicity stammered. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name."

"Raisa, Mrs. Queen."

"Thank you, Raisa, for the food and, for, well, everything. But you really don't need to call me Mrs. Queen. Please, call me Felicity."

Raisa nodded and headed for the door. "Of course, Miss Felicity."

Felicity protested. "Oh, uh, no, just … just Felicity, please."

"Can I get you anything else, Miss Felicity?"

She opened her mouth to correct Raisa again and then thought better of it. She just shook her head and smiled.

"No, thank you."

When the maid – housekeeper? Cook? – Raisa had left, Felicity transferred the tray to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. She tucked her feet underneath her and then studied her new room as she ate.

The space was huge. The en-suite bathroom was to her right; also on the right, the room bottlenecked into a short hallway that led to the door. Directly across from her was the door that connected her room to Oliver's, and a large television that was mounted to the wall; beneath the television, a dresser in dark wood ran almost the length of the wall; to her left there was a large bay window and a beautifully crafted, if simple, writing desk. A nightstand stood on either side of the (ridiculously large) bed. Her glasses, tablet, and purse took up the surface area of one of the stands.

Overall, it was beautiful. Every piece of furniture spoke of elegance and superior quality, and yet it was understated enough that it didn't feel gaudy. There was a slight hotel room air to it, but Felicity figured that had more to do with the fact that it wasn't regularly used.

When she was full – which did not coincide with an empty plate, because there was probably enough food on the tray to feed a small house party – Felicity retrieved her suitcases. She'd rolled them into the middle of the room when it occurred to her that her mother had been one of the last people to touch the luggage. Her breath left her in a painful rush then.

That was a battle to be dealt with after a shower, Felicity decided. She left the suitcases in the middle of the room and moved into the bathroom.

Everything was pale marble and burnished bronze, and beautiful. Felicity opened the cupboards curiously and found the pile of fresh towels Oliver had mentioned the night before. After some more snooping, she realized that, while towels weren't a problem – or soaps, for that matter – there wasn't a bottle of hair product to be seen.

Well.

Felicity was contemplating her odds of finding Raisa in a mansion that she had no idea how to navigate when her eyes fell on the luggage in the middle of the room. Had it been up to Felicity, she probably would have fled Vegas with the clothes on her back and a pile of electronics, and nothing else. Even in her fear, Donna had been stuck in mom mode: she'd insisted that Felicity pack at least a suitcase. When Felicity had argued about the dangers of trying to sneak a suitcase out unnoticed – let alone themselves – Donna had insisted that she would handle it.

Not only had Donna Smoak smuggled one of her daughter's suitcases out of a Mafioso's heavily guarded stronghold, she'd snuck out two.

_What are the odds_, Felicity wondered as she crossed to the luggage, _that she thought to grab some toiletries? _

She laid the suitcase that she hadn't packed on its side and unzipped it. The first thing she noticed when she opened it was a single piece of lined paper. Her mother had jotted a hasty note across it:

_You never know!_

_Love you, baby._

With the note still in hand, Felicity pulled the first piece of clothing out: it was one of her favorite dresses, the red one with the cut out over the chest. She set that aside and pulled out one of her beloved pencil skirts. She started smiling as she stared at the clothing. Her mother had packed all of her nice skirts, blouses and dresses; it wasn't until she got to the bottom, where she found several pairs of her best heels crammed in amongst each other, that Felicity started laughing.

Shoved hastily into the insole of one of her heels was a small, brightly colored make-up bag; its mate hid two unmarked travel sized bottles of shimmery liquid.

When she liberated the shoes of their cargo and popped open the top of one of the bottles, Felicity found herself crying despite her smile: it was filled with her mother's shampoo.

Her mother was a thousand miles away and she had still found a way to take care of her little girl.

Felicity laid the note lovingly on the writing desk and then took a shower, where she used as little of the shampoo and conditioner as she could get away with. When she dressed some thirty minutes later, she chose the red dress with the cutout and the heels that had hidden the toiletries.

Thus, armored in her mother's strength as she was, Felicity squared her shoulders and ventured out into her new world.


	4. Chapter 3

_**AN: I was absolutely determined to get this out today. I'm sorry that it took so long, I've had my hands full with finals the last few weeks. Thank you guys for the great response to this! **_

* * *

><p>Felicity was standing alone in the grass. Every so often a light breeze would kick up and carry the scent of the pine trees that lined the property to her; sometimes, though, it would catch in her hair and bring her the scent of her mother's shampoo instead. The mixture was an interesting one that made her smile, because she couldn't picture Donna anywhere where the trees outnumbered the buildings. Her mother was not a nature person.<p>

She wasn't thinking about her mother, though, not really. Felicity was standing barefoot in the grass, heels held in one hand, and thinking about Thea Queen. The young woman had been in the kitchen when Felicity had finally found it – she was seriously considering asking Oliver for a map of the house and grounds – and the moment that she had set eyes on Felicity everything about her had changed. Where before her expression had been calm, if a little contemplative, it had turned into a sneer and she'd bitten out a greeting that sounded for all the world as if it was an insult. In fact, if Thea's tone hadn't been enough of a jab, the way that she had addressed Felicity as "Mrs. Queen" was.

Felicity's initial reaction had been to fire off a snarky retort, but Thea had disappeared before her brain could supply her with one. The short, uncomfortable moment had driven Felicity from the house and out onto the lawn in an attempt to escape the hostility that she felt still clung to the room; a ridiculous notion, of course, because emotions and words were ephemeral, but the echo of them had not sat well with Felicity.

She'd been angry when she first stepped foot in the grass. Angry, and maybe even self-pitying, if she had to be honest – her situation was hard enough to handle as it was, without the added difficulty of facing thinly veiled animosity from Oliver's sister. Those thoughts had lasted all of five minutes. The first time a breeze had picked up and Felicity had smelled her mother's shampoo again, she'd had an epiphany about the way Thea had addressed her.

Felicity hadn't asked and no one had volunteered the information, but she had gathered that the former Mrs. Queen – Oliver's mother – was no longer in the picture. Whatever the reason was for that, she couldn't imagine that it felt good to not only have a stranger dropped into the middle of their lives, but then also have that stranger be addressed the same way that their mother had been. There was every possibility that the words "Mrs. Queen" had not been uttered again until they'd been used in conjunction with Felicity. What would I feel, Felicity asked herself as she stared out at the trees, if my mother was gone and I had to hear someone else called "Mrs. Smoak"?

Felicity's anger at Thea had cooled considerably after that. She didn't know Oliver's sister, but she was willing to bet that Thea was hurting. Well, Felicity could sympathize with being in pain, even if she had no idea why the other woman was or what had brought it on. None of those things really mattered, though, because pain was a universal language.

"Hello."

Felicity startled. She spun around quickly and her bare heel made a sound against the grass that would have been funny if she hadn't been so full of adrenaline. At the same time, she shifted the hand that held her high heels so that it fell in front of her instead of at her side.

Oliver stood behind her. His eyes flickered down to her hand and the shoes that were now between them, but he didn't say anything.

"Hi," Felicity said finally. "I didn't hear you come up behind me."

He studied her for a long moment without making a reply. His gaze was direct but not unkind, and for some reason it made her want to fidget. Oliver Queen was a handsome man. Good looks aside, he was also an intimidating man and the way that he was looking at her now made Felicity feel as though all of her secrets were free for the taking. There was no expectation in his eyes, no silent goading for her to fill the silence or give him something of herself. Oliver simply stood there and watched her.

That made Felicity nervous. She understood expectation; she understood information exchanges and haggling deals and silent (and verbal) reminders about how vulnerable her position was. What she didn't understand was being studied, and feeling as though someone was actually _seeing_ her - as though she was being looked at, and not through.

She blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I want to tell Thea."

Oliver arched a brow. "She doesn't know about my position in the Bratva. And she's not going to know."

The words were firm and straightforward. They made Felicity relax slightly because she understood them to be an order. Not that she enjoyed being ordered around, or letting people think that she could be – but it was something that she was familiar with. Oliver wasn't threatening, but he was making it very clear that she was not allowed to tell his sister anything about the Bratva, and he was a man who was obviously accustomed to being obeyed.

On the other hand, he hadn't exactly shot her down, either.

"Then we don't mention that part," Felicity answered. "Don't tell her why I need help, or who from. Just that I need help, and that my life isn't the only one on the line."

"Why?"

Felicity shifted her weight from one foot to the other and let her shoe-laden hand fall back to her side.

"Because she's upset, and she's your sister. If I'm going to be here a while, I don't want to spend my days hiding from your sister and her verbal lashings, if it's all the same to you. I have enough to deal with as it is."

Oliver took a step toward her. His face had been clear before, devoid of any but the most placid expression, and at the words "verbal lashings" it had darkened into something else. Irritation, maybe, or anger; Felicity didn't have a working understanding of him yet, and so could not place it.

"What did she say?" Oliver queried. Well, demanded was probably closer to the truth.

Felicity pulled herself up a little higher and straightened her spine. "Nothing important," she responded coolly.

Oliver took another step toward her. He was close enough now that Felicity could have reached out and touched his arm. She didn't move and made herself return that unnerving gaze of his.

"How do you know she's trustworthy?" Oliver challenged. "How do you know that she won't immediately run to the media, or someone else, and sell your secret to the highest bidder?"

Felicity faltered. She didn't know the answer to that question, of course, and now that Oliver had verbalized it she realized how dangerous the idea was. They couldn't tell Thea. Not only would telling Thea put Felicity in even more danger, it would put Thea in danger as well; hurting her feelings was the lesser of two evils.

That didn't make Felicity feel any better about it.

"Would she?" Felicity turned the question back on him. "She's your sister. Would you trust her with the information?"

Oliver hesitated. "I don't know. Thea has a pure heart, but she's young and rash, and she's been known to make more than one bad decision when she's upset. We haven't had the best year."

Felicity sighed and felt her shoulders sag. What the hell was she doing? This situation was crazy, and her plan was crazy, and the odds that it would actually work didn't even bear thinking about. She was throwing a huge monkey wrench in Oliver's life, and Thea's life, and, really, what the hell was she doing?

"This isn't me," Felicity said to the grass. "This isn't who I am."

She wasn't talking to Oliver, but something about the fact that he didn't respond irritated her. Felicity raised her head and didn't know if she wanted to yell at him, or beg him to understand.

"This isn't me," Felicity said again. Her tone bordered on a desperate sort of pleading, much as it had the other night when she'd tried to blackmail him. Oliver watched her silently. "I know that must sound crazy, because you don't know me and I tried to blackmail you, but this isn't what I do. I'm not this person, not really, but I have to be because my mother's life depends on it. My life is a disaster because other people have made it that way and I'm doing my best to fix it, but I'm still the person my mother raised me to be, and I don't hurt people. But I have to save my mom."

She wasn't crying, but the sheen of tears in her eyes made them seem luminescent behind her dark glasses. Spots of color had risen to her cheeks and dusted over her nose. Felicity was not a big person, but the only word that came to Oliver's mind as he looked at her was fierce. They were standing outside, in the grass and open air, and there wasn't a corner to be seen for miles; still, she reminded Oliver strongly of a wild cat that had been backed into a corner and was fighting to escape.

"I'm going to help you with that, Felicity. C'mon," He tipped his head in the direction of the mansion.

Felicity took a deep breath to calm herself and nodded. Oliver waited for her to pull even with him before he started walking, only for her to stop when they hit the pavement to slip her shoes back on.

Oliver stepped closer to her side when she had one shoe on and held one arm slightly away from his body in silent invitation. Felicity barely hesitated before reaching out and latching a hand around his bicep so that she could balance on one foot and finish securing the other shoe. She swallowed her initial remark about just how solid that bicep was and let go of it quickly when she was done.

Oliver waited until they were in the kitchen and he'd made sure that they were alone before speaking again. "You're gonna need this."

Felicity glanced down at his outstretched hand to see that he held a small box covered in black velvet. Her throat went dry.

"Oh. Uh, I … I don't …"

"We're going to have to keep up appearances," Oliver said over her stammering. "And, as Diggle so kindly reminded me today, married people wear rings."

He had her there. Felicity took the box wordlessly and popped open the lid; her mouth flexed into the shape of an exaggerated "O".

"Wow," she breathed. "Uh, this … I'm pretty sure this is so expensive I shouldn't even be looking at it."

The ring was exquisitely made. The center diamond was large and emerald cut, and at least one carat (but probably closer to two); channel set diamonds dipped halfway down the band. The piece of jewelry had been polished to a high shine, and sparkled as it caught the light.

"I can't wear this. What if something happens to it?" Felicity protested. "Or, God forbid, I lose it?"

Oliver shrugged. "It's insured."

She scoffed and threw her head back to glare at him. It was a knee jerk reaction, an unthinking response to such a flippant answer, and Oliver raised his eyebrows at her. She could be mistaken, but for a second she even thought she might have seen a smile.

Felicity was starting to see why no one else seemed to realize that Starling City's prodigal son was actually a high ranking member of the mafia: he presented himself more as an idle playboy with too much money, rather than someone who could conceivably work for the Bratva.

She had to give it to him: the deception was clever, and easy to pull off when the media did most of the work for him.

Felicity slipped the ring onto the third finger of her left hand and then held it up so that the ring faced him. "Thank you. I promise not to lose it."

They were standing next to the kitchen island. Felicity's back was to the door and she'd just lowered her hand when someone spoke up behind her.

"Lose what?"

Felicity squeaked – actually squeaked – and spun around to face the door with both hands clasped to her chest. She wobbled unsteadily as she tried to regain her equilibrium and then nearly stopped breathing when a wide hand steadied her by settling into the small of her back.

The woman apologized quickly. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Ollie said this was where you'd be."

"Felicity, this is Sara Lance. Sara, this is Felicity."

"Hi," Sara said with a bright smile. She stepped close enough to shake Felicity's hand.

"Hello," Felicity answered when she managed to find her voice.

Sara Lance was beautiful. Unfairly so, even: her blonde hair was long and effortlessly wavy and when she smiled it revealed a dimple in her chin. A light coating of freckles and blue eyes added to the mix, and Sara was easily what her mom would call a knockout.

"I get the impression that you don't like to be snuck up on, Felicity."

"It's definitely on my list of things I don't enjoy," she answered.

"Think I can help you with that." Sara smiled warmly.

"I've asked Sara to be your bodyguard." Oliver's voice was quiet as it drifted over her shoulder.

Felicity was mildly irritated with herself for focusing on that voice, and the hand that still rested against her back, rather than what was actually being said. Her brain kept trying to get stuck on the details – the knowledge that if she took a single step backward she'd collide with his chest – instead of the bigger picture.

"Bodyguard," she repeated dumbly. Then, "Wait, what? You're here to be my bodyguard?"

"Yep," Sara replied, popping the last consonant. She walked over to the end of the kitchen island and leaned over, placing her elbow on the marble top and then dropping her chin into her hand. "Whaddaya say? Partners in crime?"

Felicity didn't see the pointed look Oliver shot at Sara, but she did see Sara grin widely in response. She was still so bewildered she didn't know what to say.

"I thought you'd be more comfortable with a woman as a bodyguard," Oliver explained.

Her brain finally caught up with the situation. Felicity moved away from Oliver and turned so that she could look at both him and Sara (and she kept the kitchen door in her peripheral vision).

"I can't have a bodyguard."

"And yet," Oliver retorted dryly, "You do."

"Remember all those things we just talked about?" Felicity prodded. She was trying to be appropriately vague and still reference the conversation they'd had on the grass. "Those concerns are true for people other than your sister."

Oliver stuffed a hand in his pocket. The look he gave Felicity was something close to a smirk. "Sara knows," he said nonchalantly.

Felicity felt her eyes go wide. She stared at Oliver for a second and then cut her gaze quickly to Sara. The other woman wiggled her fingers in a silly approximation of a wave and grinned.

"Knows what?" Felicity asked. The question was pointless because she already knew the answer.

"Everything."

Felicity didn't move. She stood still and felt the blood as it rushed through her body and pooled in her fingertips, and the adrenaline that heated her veins.

"You told her?" Felicity's voice was monotone.

"Yes."

"Without talking to me about it first?"

Oliver tipped his head slightly in a confused sort of disbelief. Felicity didn't take her eyes off of him long enough to notice the look that Sara directed at him: _you're in the shit now, buddy_, it said.

"Are you angry?" Oliver wasn't taunting her. He genuinely wanted to make sure that he was reading the situation correctly.

"Angry? Oliver, you just told me that it would be dangerous to tell Thea and then I turn around and find out that you not only told Sara – _who I've never met_ – you did so without even talking to me!"

"I trust Sara."

"I don't!" Felicity exploded. She advanced on him in the heat of her anger. "Why would I trust someone I've never met when I barely trust you?"

"Uh, what's going on?" A new voice interrupted.

Felicity pressed her lips into a thin line so that she wouldn't snap a thoughtless response. She narrowed her eyes at Oliver and turned with deliberate slowness to find Thea standing in the entryway. Her arms were crossed over her chest in what Felicity was quickly coming to consider her "disapproving diva" stance.

"Aw, were you having a couples' spat?"

That was just fanning the flames for Felicity. She could feel the angry blush as it spread over her cheeks and down her neck.

"Oh, we are so not doing this," she said through clenched jaws.

Without another word or a second glance for any of them, Felicity swept from the room with the sound of her blood beating war drums in her ears. She was so angry she didn't bother to pay attention to where she was going; she just marched down the plush carpets and dared the house to swallow her whole.

The house obliged.

After a while, when her anger had cooled and she was once again aware of things outside herself, Felicity slowed her pace and made an effort to take in her surroundings. She had no idea where she was or where the hallway she was in would lead. Instead of caring about that, she turned her eyes to the pictures and portraits on the walls and wandered.

Here and there tall tables were tucked against the walls, adorned with ornate vases and sculptures that had probably been there for years. Felicity gravitated toward one when she realized that it also displayed a family picture.

Oliver had to be a teenager. His blonde hair was long enough to be almost silly, but he was grinning with a youthful sort of glee that she couldn't imagine seeing on his face now. Thea was young, and adorable with a mouth full of braces; Felicity wondered if she'd had such a sharp tongue even then. The expression on little Thea's face made her think probably not.

The woman had to be Oliver's mother. She was beautiful – of course she was, because how could she not be? – with flaxen hair that curled perfectly over one shoulder. She looked every inch the powerful socialite that she had been; next to her, a broad man had an arm over her shoulder and a beard that was almost as gray as it was blonde.

All four of them were smiling. They could have been one of those families on commercials for high-end furniture, or resort accommodations.

She heard the footsteps before the voice this time.

"Robert and Moira Queen."

She'd seen pictures of Robert Queen in news articles when she was building the dossier on Oliver. He and his father had been together in that shipwreck six years ago; Robert hadn't survived. Felicity knew that she'd seen pictures and articles of Moira Queen as well, but she hadn't paid as much attention to those. That had been an oversight on her part, though it wasn't the first and it surely wouldn't be the last.

Felicity sighed and turned her head. Sara had stopped a few feet away and propped her shoulder against the wall.

"How did you find me?"

"Spent a lot of time in this house," Sara answered. "Lots of killer games of Hide n' Seek. That, and I followed you."

Felicity almost smiled. Sara must have caught the twitch of her lips because she gave her a lopsided smile in response and pushed herself off of the wall.

"I don't expect you to trust me straight out of the gate, Felicity. I know that trust is earned, and I'm going to earn yours."

Felicity eyed her. "You sound pretty certain about that."

"Not certain; hopeful."

She shifted on her feet and then crossed the distance that separated them. "Did he really tell you everything?"

"Only the facts," Sara said. "And I have to say – blackmail? You've got ovaries of steel."

"Ovaries of steel?" Felicity repeated incredulously.

Sara grinned her trademark grin. "I'm an equal opportunity woman."

"But it's crazy, right? I mean, you must not think very much of the person blackmails your friend into a fake marriage. Not to mention one with a Mafia boss on her trail." Felicity tugged at her fingers nervously.

Sara was all seriousness as she studied Felicity. Her gaze was intense but not hostile, and it reminded Felicity of the way Oliver had looked at her outside.

"I think you're someone who is doing their best to save someone they love. And I've known Ollie most of my life – I've never met anyone who can make that man do anything he doesn't want to."

Felicity's shoulders sagged in relief. She didn't care whether or not she had Sara's approval, but it would be nice to have someone around who didn't bare her claws every time Felicity made an appearance; and while making friends was not necessary, it would certainly make this new life of hers more bearable if she had a few less enemies.

"Thank you for that," Felicity said sincerely. "Um … can you show me how to get back to my room?"

Sara laughed and reached out to gently tug on Felicity's arm. The action was so jovial and familiar that it made Felicity smile involuntarily. The ease of it, and the way Sara nonchalantly gave her a playful bump with her hip, made her feel lighter than she had in far too long.

"Should I draw you a map?" Sara teased.

"Blueprints would be better."

Laughter followed them through the halls. Maybe she could have a friend here after all.


	5. Chapter 4

"It cannot be helped."

Oliver swallowed a sigh. "When?"

On the other end of the line, Anatoly pulled his mouth away from the phone receiver and barked out an order. Then, to Oliver, "Two weeks."

Just then the speaker on Oliver's office phone activated and his secretary's voice filled the space. "Ms. Loring, Mr. King, and Mrs. Hughes are here to see you, Mr. Queen."

Oliver raised his eyes to the glass wall that separated him from Elle, his secretary, and held up a finger to signal that he needed a minute before she sent them in. Elle nodded once in understanding.

"I'll be there," Oliver assured Anatoly.

"Good. Bring Mr. Diggle and we will share the best vodka my country has."

The corner of Oliver's mouth twitched in good humor. Every time he saw Anatoly the other man made it a point to share a bottle of vodka with him.

Oliver agreed and was about to hang up when Anatoly stopped him with a warning.

"Oliver? Dmitri will not make it easy for you."

Oh, he was well aware of that. "Thank you."

He'd barely hung up when the door to his office swung open. Jean Loring, the Queen family attorney, crossed the room with a smile and the same no-nonsense attitude that Oliver had always associated with her. He stood and shook the woman's hand with a genial greeting; when she took a seat in front of his desk, he repeated the handshake and greeting for the two people who had followed her in.

Daniel King and Anna Hughes seated themselves as well. Oliver buttoned his suit jacket to allow himself a moment to switch his train of thoughts from the situation in Russia to the one that was in front of him now. Meeting with Jean had been a necessity, of course, and high on the list of priorities; asking Hughes and King to the meeting had been a last minute decision. They were the two most senior members of the Queen Consolidated board of directors, and Anna Hughes had been something of a friend of his mother's. The thought to include them had come to Oliver when he'd asked Elle to arrange an appointment with Jean. There was no point in doing damage control if he wasn't going to cover all of his bases.

Oliver reseated himself. When he dropped his hands onto the armrests of his chair he was acutely aware of the strip of metal that pressed into his ring finger.

"Thank you for coming," Oliver said lightly. The congeniality was a farce, of course, but the three people across from him had no idea. "There's been a development that I felt I should share with you before word got out by … other means."

King and Hughes glanced at each other warily; Jean straightened in her chair and switched into professional mode with almost startling ease.

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw Diggle step silently into the room and take up a position near the door.

He cut straight to the chase. "I'm married." He ignored Anna Hughes' surprised intake of breath and the way Jean's eyebrows drew down.

King recovered first. He was a shrewd man and didn't bother with congratulations. "How will this affect the company?"

Oliver appreciated the other man's directness. "Aside from the media buzz, it won't. I have a meeting scheduled with the head of the PR department later this afternoon."

"Will Mrs. Queen be stepping into a professional position in the company?" Hughes asked. She had recovered from her surprise. "Should we expect to see her in board meetings?"

The questions caught Oliver off guard. He fought to keep the surprise from his face. At no point in time had he considered either of those ideas, or any idea that had Felicity dealing with his family's company in any way. Now that they had been voiced he understood the logic behind them, but he didn't immediately know how to answer. He had made sure to prepare everything he thought he'd need for this meeting – or so he'd thought.

"No." He said it with finality.

"I'm going to need the marriage certificate and prenuptial agreement," Jean said.

Oliver reached for the folder that Felicity had given him last night. She'd told him matter-of-factly that it contained every necessary document they'd need for the ruse, and the only question he'd thought to ask was when she'd had the time to forge them all. Felicity had shrugged and admitted that she found forgery relaxing; the statement had been mildly ridiculous because it had been delivered as casually as if she were telling him her favorite flavor of ice cream.

As Oliver passed the folder to Jean, he mentally kicked himself for not looking over the documents. He'd meant to last night, and also this morning, but he'd spent those hours making calls to Russia and fulfilling his role as CEO. Now, he was thoroughly annoyed by the knowledge that he had no idea what was in that folder.

Jean set to rifling through the papers immediately. As she perused the folder's contents, she placed each piece of paper on the edge of his desk as she finished. Oliver tried to surreptitiously study them.

The marriage license was first. He was not surprised to see that Felicity had chosen a state of Nevada certificate; she'd also chosen a marriage date of one year ago. That part at least he'd known to expect – they'd already decided on the story they were going to tell.

Birth certificates were next. Those, of course, were not forged; Oliver ignored his own and tried to glean the information off of Felicity's while also answering the questions Hughes and King were firing at him. Her middle name was Meghan; she was four years his junior, and she'd been born in Las Vegas. He filed that information away for later.

"We'll talk this over with the board, of course," King was saying.

"This could be a positive move for Queen Consolidated," Hughes added. "This company has always projected itself as a family organization, and a wife on the arm of the CEO and Queen family patriarch could boost our image considerably."

Oliver didn't know Anna Hughes well enough to like her, but he'd never disliked her. Her statement set him on edge, however. The words grated on him more than the way they were said: "a wife" instead of "your wife", and "the Queen family patriarch" instead of … well, something else. The words she'd chosen to use made him sound like a pawn and a figurehead for the media, and he didn't like it. Oliver's dislike and irritation for the statement stemmed from more than just the fact that he was neither of those things. He simply couldn't figure out what it was at the moment.

"She agreed to this?"

Jean's question drew Oliver from his thoughts. He glanced at the lawyer and found that she was already looking at him.

"Yes." Out of sight, Oliver clenched a fist. The metal band on his finger pinched the skin around it.

Jean raised a manicured eyebrow. "I've never seen a pre-nup like this in families of your social class."

He didn't say anything. The expression he leveled at her clearly communicated that he expected an explanation.

"There's no infidelity clause," Jean started. "For either of you. There aren't any stipulations for any investments, existing or potential. Your assets are secured, but your wife's aren't. In the event of a divorce, she'll be left with nothing."

Oliver wasn't sure why that surprised him. Felicity had told him outright that the only thing she wanted from him was protection. She didn't care about his fortune or his fidelity; her only thought was for the safety of herself and her mother. In fact, there was a real possibility that Felicity Smoak didn't have any assets to speak of, and therefore had nothing to protect.

"Mr. Queen," Jean started. She stopped for a second and the business façade fell away long enough to see that her next words would not be spoken as the Queen family lawyer, but as a concerned human being. "Oliver. This pre-nup weighs entirely in favor of you and your family, and leaves Felicity unprotected."

King interrupted. "That's either stupid or naïve."

"Or overly trusting," Hughes supplied.

King shot his cohort a look that Oliver easily interpreted: in Daniel King's mind – and world – overt trust was the same thing as naiveté, and neither were to be valued.

"Are you sure that she signed this with a full understanding of its terms?" Jean questioned.

Dehumanizing. That was what had bothered Oliver so much about Anna Hughes' earlier comments: she had dehumanized both him and Felicity with near flippancy, reducing them to "a wife" and a "patriarch". Neither Hughes nor King had even bothered to ask the name of the wife he'd surprised them with. Jean had at least used her name, although Oliver had a gnawing suspicion that her latest question was a veiled attempt to ask him if he'd coerced her into signing a pre-nuptial agreement that would leave her bereft if he decided he wanted to take everything.

Hughes had dehumanized him and a woman that she'd never met, and now King was belittling them. Well, Felicity at least.

He was reminded, once again, of how much he hated the bureaucracy and politics of his social circles; how angry these people and their stilted meanness made him.

The only thing that kept Oliver from biting out a sharp answer was that Jean's last question seemed to be a result of genuine concern that someone would legally lock himself or herself into such a defenseless position.

"The pre-nup was Felicity's idea." His irritation made the declaration a sharp one. "She insisted on the terms. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a conference call scheduled with our Moscow offices." That was a lie.

Oliver didn't realize how tightly he'd been wound until the three of them had disappeared down the hall. He blew out a breath and unbuttoned his suit jacket, then shucked out of it entirely and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"You all right, man?"

Diggle was still standing quietly by the door. He hadn't made a sound for the duration of the meeting. No one except Oliver had known that he was there, and he suspected that was the way Diggle had wanted it. He hated the corporate bureaucracy almost as much as Oliver did.

"Fine," Oliver answered automatically.

Truthfully, he couldn't discern the underlying cause of the tension that was setting him on edge. He dealt with meetings like that one all the time, even daily sometimes, and Hughes was neither the first nor the last person to reduce him to a plaything for the media.

"Between us," Diggle started calmly, "I have to say, I'm impressed."

Oliver turned away from the windows to stare at his friend. "What?"

"Felicity could've made that pre-nup say anything. You didn't even look at it before you gave it to Jean, did you?"

Oliver's glare was all the answer that Digg needed.

"She had carte blanche, Oliver. Felicity could have screwed you over with that piece of paper."

"She didn't."

"Apparently," Digg agreed. "She did the opposite."

Oliver turned back to the windows. In the twenty-nine years of his life, he'd known very few people who had wanted nothing from him. Women wanted his attention, socialites wanted his favor, the paparazzi wanted his photo; everyone else wanted his money, or for him to make money for them. Not only did Felicity apparently not want any of those things, she'd forfeited a perfect opportunity to _take_ them. The only thing she wanted wasn't even something that he had to actively deliver on: in many ways, attaching herself to his name was all the protection that she seemed to need.

Felicity had swept into his office two weeks ago and, aside from the initial blackmail attempt (that had been more of a plea, really), she hadn't asked a single thing of him. She didn't want his attention, or time, or approval; in fact, Oliver had seen his "wife" a total of two times this week and their only conversation had lasted all of ten minutes. That conversation had been last night, when she gave him the folder that Jean would need, and had consisted entirely of ironing out the details of the story they were going to spin.

"It bothers you."

Digg's voice drew him from his thoughts again. This time when Oliver looked, the other man had moved to lean against the edge of his desk and had his arms folded over his chest.

"She bothers you," Digg clarified smugly.

"She's a variable," Oliver answered in a clipped tone. He unconsciously flicked the bottom of the wedding band on his finger with his thumbnail. "An unknown, and you know how much I like those. I know nothing about her. I didn't even know how old she was until I saw her birth certificate in that folder, Digg."

Diggle didn't bother hiding his grin. "Starting to feel like you're in over your head, huh? Like you might have jumped the gun a little bit, maybe?"

Oliver opened his mouth to spit out a reply when Thea breezed into his office on the heels of Elle's insistence that she wait just a moment.

"I come bearing gifts!" his sister announced.

"It's fine, Elle," Oliver addressed his secretary. The woman looked a bit off-put, but she just nodded and went back to her desk.

"Doesn't smell like gifts," Diggle teased.

"Does it smell like Raisa's beef stroganoff?" Thea queried. "Because that's what it is."

"What are you doing here, Thea?"

She gave him a mock pout as she dropped onto the couch and started pulling containers out of the bag in her hand and spreading them across the table. "Bringing you lunch, duh. Raisa's worried that you aren't eating and I've hardly seen you all week, so we thought it'd be nice to bring you a homemade meal."

Diggle had already crossed the room and taken a seat on the opposite couch. Oliver didn't take his eyes from his sister. She'd spent the better part of the last week and a half being snarky and difficult whenever they saw each other, either ignoring him completely or gifting him with sickly-sweet insults that were hidden behind false lightness. He'd finally snapped at her a few days ago, and her behavior had mostly evened out after that.

None of which explained why she'd suddenly shown up in his office with lunch at nearly two in the afternoon.

His stomach grumbled. Traitor, Oliver thought. He ignored Thea's triumphant grin as he sat down.

"Do you have to work this weekend?" Thea asked as they ate.

"I have some paperwork, but I don't have to be in the office. Why?"

"I was thinking we could do something this weekend. The Fourth of July is next week and there's a whole bunch of parties going on this weekend in town, but I was thinking maybe we could go to New York for the weekend and … what?"

Oliver was staring at her. Thea was giving him her best expression of confused innocence, and he saw through it immediately. Oliver didn't like parties and she knew it. All of her suggestions for weekend plans were things that his past self – the old Ollie – would have done, and things that he hadn't done since before the island.

"You know I don't do that anymore," he said slowly.

Thea shrugged. The movement was so far from the nonchalance she was going for that Oliver straightened immediately in response.

"I know," Thea replied. "I just thought, maybe you'd want to show your wife what it's like to be a one percenter."

Oliver skipped right over the barely hidden jab at the fact that Felicity was apparently not from a rich family and honed in on the glint that had come into Thea's eyes. He knew that look, and he knew that he usually didn't like what happened when he saw it.

Thea kept going. "It just seems strange that I never see the two of you together. And, let's be honest, Ollie, your wife is weird."

Thea hadn't used Felicity's name once. She kept referring to her as "your wife", and Oliver thought again about the way Anna Hughes had said "a wife". He clenched his jaw as a fresh wave of irritation swept through him.

"Felicity." Oliver's voice was quiet and tense.

"What?" Thea queried.

"Her name is Felicity," Oliver answered. "Not 'your wife'."

Thea shrugged again in clear dismissal. The action angered him and told him that his sister hadn't really come here to bring him lunch; she wanted to fight with him.

"Anyway, she's weird, and since I want to spend time with you I'm assuming she'll be there. I thought it might be awkward with just the three of us, and I haven't been to a party in forever."

Oliver set his food down. His appetite had disappeared, and Thea was digging for an opening the way she did whenever she had something to say, but wanted an excuse to do so. He wasn't going to give her one.

"No."

Thea glared at him. "No?"

He didn't repeat himself.

"Why not?" Thea challenged. Oliver realized that he'd given her the opening she'd wanted too late. "Because your wife is a weirdo who jumps at loud noises? Seriously, Ollie, what the hell do you see in her? She's like a kicked puppy. I can't get within ten feet of her without her trying to use something as a shield, like I'm going to …"

"Thea!"

Oliver hadn't yelled at his sister since they were children. He had reprimanded her, snapped at her, and even used his best approximation of his "disappointed dad" voice – but he'd never actually yelled at her. Until now, when her name exploded from his throat in a sharp bark that was so loud she flinched.

Thea was stunned.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Oliver demanded. "Felicity has done nothing to warrant cruelty from anyone, let alone you. You know nothing about her or what she's been through, and you have no right to joke about things you don't understand."

"Ollie –."

He had noticed the habits that Thea had so callously made fun of. He had noticed that Felicity startled easily, and that her immediate response to being startled was to make herself smaller – to use whatever was at hand to shield herself, even when it was literally just one of her hands. He remembered the look on her face when he'd tried to tease her about the door that adjoined their rooms. Oliver knew that that door hadn't been unlocked once since she'd moved into that room, and that she locked her bedroom door every night before bed.

Oliver had come home with many of those same habits. He had carried that sort of fear around for the first year on the island, until he'd learned to defend himself and honed his body into a weapon. The fear was gone now, but the hyper awareness was not. There was a part of Oliver that was constantly waiting to be attacked, and that didn't go away whether he was in a crowded place or alone in his room. The difference between him and Felicity was that Oliver knew he could defend himself now.

The only defenses Felicity had were locked doors and a constant desire to be vulnerable as little as possible, and to try not to put herself in situations where she could be surprised.

Thea's suggestion that they go somewhere "public" clicked for him in that moment. Public in Starling City, or any big city, meant crowded.

Oliver snapped to his feet. He didn't think he'd ever been this angry with his sister before in their lives.

"You wanted to go somewhere where she'd be surrounded by people," he accused quietly.

Thea stood as well, and even through the haze of his anger he could see that she was on the verge of tears.

"Ollie, I didn't -."

"You did. You made fun of something that Felicity can't control, Thea. You wanted to bully her, and you wanted me to help you do it."

Twin tears slipped down Thea's cheeks. Oliver ignored them in spite of the way that his heart constricted. Thea had spent her life chasing after him, the gangly shadow that bounced along behind him and asked him every question she could think of. She was sweet, and mischievous, and Oliver had thought of her every day of the five years he'd been gone. Of all the members of the Queen family, Thea had been the best of them. The incorruptible one, and the purest of heart, and the only one that Oliver had ever held out hope for; Thea was kind and honest. His sister was the person that Oliver would do anything for.

What the hell had happened to her?

"For the first time in my life, Thea, I'm ashamed of you."

The words filled the room like a death knell. They were sour on his tongue and made his throat constrict painfully, but those things were nothing compared to the way his sister's face crumpled. Thea's lips trembled and she was crying in earnest, but Oliver didn't try to comfort her. Instead, he watched her turn on her heel and all but run from the room.

The movement of Diggle rising to his feet reminded Oliver that the other man was there. He'd forgotten about him entirely.

There was no judgment in Diggle's face as he clapped Oliver once on the shoulder. "She'll be okay."

Diggle left as silently as he'd arrived. In an effort to burn off some of his angry energy, Oliver cleaned up the remains of their food and then paced a few laps of his office. He clenched his hands into fists as he went, and flicked his thumbnail over his wedding band when the metal pressed into his skin.

He'd agreed to protect Felicity, and he hadn't meant only from her father; he'd just never imagined that he'd need to protect her from his sister.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Before you yell at me (or hate Thea), let me say that I don't hate Thea and that this scene serves a purpose. You'll see. ;)<strong>_


	6. Chapter 5

_**AN: Have I said thank you lately for your continued support of this work? Thank you. Also, I've gotten some questions that I'd like to address at large: first is that this does not occur in the timeline of the show. I'm drawing a lot from Oliver's mindset of season one, but this story is not supposed to occur during a certain season. It's mostly a complete departure from the show: the characters are the same (and most of their back stories), but that doesn't mean they'll be appearing the same way. I won't answer questions about Moira because they will be addressed in the story. Hope that information helps!**_

* * *

><p>Every inch of the writing desk was covered in paper. There was an open folder on the bed and a laptop, as well as a tablet and a set of headphones. The suitcases had been put away, but there was a sweater hanging off the back of the desk chair and a pair of shoes peeking out from beneath the bed.<p>

"Oliver?"

He turned his eyes away from the room and found Felicity and Sara behind him in the hall.

"Hi. Hey, Sara."

"Hey, Ollie." She smiled at him and then looked at Felicity. "I'll see you in the morning. And remember – contacts and tight clothes."

Felicity grinned and shook her head once. "I know!" When she turned her attention back to Oliver he was giving her a strange look.

"Tight clothes?" he questioned.

"Sara wants to teach me basic self defense," Felicity explained, stepping past him and into her room.

Oliver had started to follow her into the room. At her explanation, he found his steps faltering for a second. Sara's offer to teach Felicity how to defend herself was Sara's way of acknowledging the same behavior that Thea had earlier in his office – only, Sara understood what sort of things could cause such behavior. Oliver had thought that Thea would understand that as well, or at least come to the conclusion, but if she had then she'd chosen to ignore it in favor of being nasty.

Self-defense was Sara's way of acknowledging what Felicity had not told them.

"Sara's a good teacher," Oliver said to cover his lapse. "And she's the same build, so she knows what to teach you."

"What do you mean?"

Oliver chose to stand in front of the dresser and lean against it as he faced her. Felicity crawled into the middle of the bed and then folded her legs beneath her. She was already in pajamas – her pants were covered in colorful nesting dolls – and her hair was down. Oliver pulled the details he'd learned about her today to the forefront of his mind and melded them with the picture of her that he refined every time they interacted: beautiful, intelligent, young. The sweep of the bed and the large, dark pieces of furniture that filled the room made her look small by comparison.

"I mean that the way I defend myself isn't the same way you'll defend yourself. You're small, like Sara. She'll teach you moves that rely on agility and speed, instead of brute strength."

Felicity pursed her lips. "That makes sense. So, what's up?"

Oliver crossed his ankles and leaned more of his weight on the dresser. "I had a meeting with Jean today, the family lawyer, and the head of PR at QC." He stopped there.

Oliver didn't like the media. He hated the paparazzi and the way they lapped at the details of his life like rabid dogs at a kill; he hated being on display like a sideshow. Before the island, when he was young and arrogant, he'd loved the attention. The public had wanted a show and he'd willingly given them one.

The head of the PR department had taken the announcement of his marriage and ran with it. Kevin Chi had worked for Queen Consolidated for less than a handful of years; Moira had hired him because he was young, and the perfect person to revamp the company's image in ways that wouldn't alienate the younger generations. Chi was good at his job. Unfortunately for Oliver, that job was to market him and his family like the latest trend - to truss them up for public consumption.

"Oliver?"

Felicity's voice drew him back. He sighed heavily and tugged impatiently at his tie until the knot came loose and he could pull it off. He undid the first few buttons of his dress shirt.

John was right – he had jumped into this situation hastily, guided by his gut instinct to help the woman in front of him, logic and rationale be damned. Oliver didn't regret that decision. Every time Felicity was surprised and he saw the way she reacted, he knew that he'd made the right choice. Still, it might have been smart to hash out a few more of the details before allowing himself to be blackmailed into marriage. The truth of the matter was that this marriage was only fake as far as he and three other people were concerned; for the rest of the world, it was real. Felicity was his wife, and a part of his family now. In his head, she was a stranger, and yet he had to act as though she was his best friend; his partner, and lover; the person closest to him.

Felicity cleared her throat. She'd scooted closer to the edge of the bed, and when Oliver looked at her he saw only kindness in her face. She offered him a tentative smile.

"It wears on you, doesn't it?" she asked quietly. "The double life. The constant tension between who you need to be, and who you want to be? Everyone looks at you, but they don't really see you. They see who they think you should be."

Oliver's shoulders sagged. His chest, tight from the tension that had settled over him after the call to Anatoly and worsened throughout his various meetings, expanded as though it had been freed from its chains. The anger fell away, and in its place all he felt was exhaustion. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Sit down."

Oliver barely hesitated. He stepped forward and lowered himself to the end of the bed, and then registered a small flare of surprise when he realized that he'd done so.

Felicity didn't say anything else. She didn't ask him to continue with whatever he'd started to say or even what was bothering him. Instead, she pulled the tablet and laptop to herself and went back to doing whatever she must have been doing before he'd arrived. Oliver watched her for a while, listening to the steady tap-tap of her fingers moving over the keyboard. She typed quickly and without looking at the keys. Every so often she'd move her attention to the tablet and swipe her finger across the screen, or pull up pages of text.

Even now, Felicity wanted nothing from him. They were in the same room, less than five feet from each other, and she wasn't demanding anything. Thea would have wanted to know what was wrong, or why he wasn't speaking, or what she could do to help, while Felicity just … left him alone. A part of Oliver didn't understand that. Why didn't she want his attention, at least? Why didn't she care that he was there? He wasn't sure he knew what to do with someone who didn't expect anything from him.

The larger part of him was so grateful that he could kiss her.

Oliver's eyes had wandered to the writing desk against the wall. He was close enough now to see that, while it was covered in loose papers, there was one taped to the wall in front of the desk. _Love you, baby_, it proclaimed in neat handwriting.

"Your mom?"

"Hmm?" Felicity hummed in reply. She moved her eyes off the computer screen and over to the wall where his gaze was directed. Her mother's note stared back at them. "Yeah." Her tone was fond. "Found it in one of my suitcases."

When he was little, Raisa would sometimes slip happy notes into his backpack and lunches. Mostly they were lopsided smiley faces drawn onto Post-It notes, but occasionally there'd be messages as well. His mother had never done that.

Felicity made a few keystrokes and then spun her laptop around and set it down in front of him. A younger version of her stood with a beautiful blonde woman, their arms around each other; Felicity was wearing a graduation cap and gown. They had the same smile.

"Her name is Donna, and she started crying ten seconds after that picture was taken."

The corner of Oliver's mouth pulled up into a smile. Felicity and her mother looked happy and carefree.

Felicity reached out to grab the edge of the laptop and the diamond on her hand caught the light and twinkled at him as she did so. The half-smile on his face slipped away.

"I had a meeting with the head of the PR department today," he started tiredly. "They want to do a press release. They think an official marriage announcement will be better press than a leak on a gossip site."

Felicity inhaled deeply and then blew it out. "Okay," she said slowly. "What, uh, what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means that, starting tomorrow, you're gonna have to get used to being called Mrs. Queen."

She nodded. "So the show is about to start," she rephrased. "And you and I are about to be a happy couple."

"Pretty much. So you might want to hide anything you don't want the media finding – like information about your parents. Once the news gets out, we'll be expected to make public appearances. The Queen family heads a lot of charity galas and fundraising events, so they'll be part of it, but don't be surprised if paparazzi start snapping your photo if you decide to cross the street."

"They do that? That's a thing?"

"Sometimes."

Felicity considered his answer. Her face was about to be splashed across gossip sites and newspapers; people would want to know where she was going and what she was doing. Would the news reach all the way to Vegas, and her mother? Would it reach her father? If – when it did, how long would it take Angelo De Luca to discover that his daughter had allied herself with his enemy?

"Felicity."

She shook her head quickly to dispel those thoughts. "Sorry, what?"

Oliver knew what she'd been thinking. "Is there anything I should know?"

The question struck her as odd, and she tipped her head a little as she said, "Like, what? Other than the whole Mafioso as a father thing."

"Anything that might … that the media might try to misconstrue?" He was doing his best not to outright ask the question that had been plaguing him all day.

"Uh … I ate a pot brownie in college once? It was an accident, really, though it might have been fun if I wasn't allergic to nuts. Seriously, my tongue was like, two sizes too big for my mouth, and my face puffed up like the Stay Puff marshmallow man. Not a fun trip to the ER. Not that any trip to the ER is fun, but, well …"

Oliver was just going to have to ask her. "De Luca – your father, did he beat you?" The words tasted bitter as they rolled off his tongue.

Felicity clenched her teeth. Had Oliver asked her that question earlier, she wouldn't have understood why or where it was coming from; as it happened, Sara had made an observation earlier – that Oliver seemed to have made as well.

"No," she answered after a pause. "Well, I've been … manhandled a few times too many, but that's it. I'm just – I'm not a victim, Oliver. Just someone who has spent too long trying to fight off the devil."

"All the same. I want you to know that you're safe here. The only devil in these halls is Thea when she doesn't get her way."

Oliver didn't strike Felicity as a particularly light-hearted man, but she recognized that he was trying to lessen the tension that his question had caused. He genuinely seemed to want to make her comfortable and set her at ease. That was a kindness that she hadn't expected.

She responded in kind. "Clearly you've never seen me before my mandatory morning coffee."

"I have not."

"Be glad. It's not pretty." Felicity smiled.

"Noted."

Felicity could have left it at that. She should have left it at that, but he had made an effort to make her feel better when he didn't have to and she was so grateful for that; more than that, his face was so care worn and drawn that she wanted to return his kindness. With those things in mind, she reached across the gap that separated them and deliberately rested her hand on his forearm.

"Thank you, Oliver."

Oliver studied her hand: small, with short fingernails that were painted a turquoise color that was so bright it was almost fluorescent.

His phone rang then, and Felicity's hand slipped away as he begrudgingly fished it out of his pocket. The day just refused to end for him.

"Night, Felicity," he said as he stood.

"Night, Oliver."

Felicity listened to his voice as he disappeared down the hall and wondered what the hell she'd gotten them into.

* * *

><p>Thea Queen was not a coward. She was a firm believer in facing things head on, although that was mostly because she had learned that there was little else to be done. Life had a way of shoving things in her face whether she wanted it to or not. The same could be said of the media, really. Hiding was not an easy feat when one's name was Queen.<p>

Thea managed to do it for the rest of the day after the scene in Oliver's office. She tried not to think of it as hiding for the first few hours, but had finally admitted it to herself when Raisa had brought dinner to her room and given her a hug before leaving. Raisa was good about that: knowing when Thea needed comfort but wasn't ready to talk about why.

She hid, and paced her room in spurts, and chewed on her thumbnail; she blared energetic music too loud in an effort to drown out her thoughts. Nothing helped. Despite her best efforts, Thea couldn't forget what had happened. Oliver's yell had startled her in a way that not much else did anymore. The anger had positively rolled off of him. Those things were drops in the proverbial bucket when compared to the way that he had looked at her, though: as if she had betrayed him somehow, or attacked him.

She would never forget his words. _I'm ashamed of you_. Thea had seen the truth of them painted on his face, and felt their echo in her heart. Her mother would have been ashamed of her as well. She was ashamed of herself, honestly. In truth, Thea would never have done the things she'd spoken of. Her words had been a carefully shaped weapon that she could wield against her brother. She'd wanted to get a rise out of him, and boy had she. More than that, though, Thea had been angry and she'd wanted to hurt Oliver – not just because he'd hurt her, but also because he didn't seem to know that he had. She had been so upset over his behavior of late: he was never there for her anymore. Without their mother, Ollie was the only family she had left, and she was sick of being neglected. All of the canceled dinner plans and promises to spend time with her, and the secrets he was obviously keeping, and then to have him drop some woman into their lives and proclaim himself married … Thea felt like she was living with a stranger. He had Ollie's face and his voice, but none of his character.

In her anger, Thea had lashed out. Ollie was impervious to her, so she'd focused on the person that wasn't: Felicity. Thea had wanted a reaction out of her brother, and now all she wanted was to erase it.

She'd never wanted to hurt or endanger Felicity. Thea was angry but she wasn't cruel. At least, she hoped she wasn't; her behavior over the last few weeks had left a lot to be desired.

Thea hadn't hid because Ollie was angry, but because he was right. She hated herself for saying those things and making her brother think that she meant them. She wasn't trying to hide from other people, but from herself, and the twisted version of herself that she'd glimpsed in Ollie's office.

Thea spent most of the night awake. She replayed every sharp retort and snide remark she'd tossed at Felicity since her arrival, and the ones she'd given her brother as well. She didn't remember all of them, but what she did remember was this: Felicity had never responded to any of them. Felicity had been with them for weeks now and Thea hadn't had a mean word from her. She hadn't had any words from her, actually, aside from that first day. Felicity had taken to avoiding her.

_Felicity hasn't done anything to warrant cruelty from anyone, let alone you. _Oliver's words echoed harshly in her mind. She cried for a while then, and eventually passed out fully clothed on her bed.

The next morning, Thea woke early and made her way down to the kitchen with a goal and a plan of action in mind.

Raisa was humming to herself as she made breakfast. Thea smiled and kissed the older woman on her cheek before crossing to check that the coffee pot was full of fresh coffee. She pulled down a mug.

"Raisa? How does Felicity like her coffee?"

The humming stopped. When Thea glanced up, Raisa was smiling warmly at her. The kindness in her face, so familiar and beloved, twisted the knife of guilt that had lodged itself firmly in her breast. Raisa wouldn't be looking at her like that now if she knew what Thea had said about Felicity.

When Raisa had helped her prepare the cup of coffee – a few teaspoons of French Vanilla creamer was all that was needed – Thea carried it carefully up the stairs. She eyed her brother's door as she passed and wondered if he was already gone for the day.

She took a moment outside of Felicity's door to breathe deeply and mentally run through what she wanted to say. Then, hoping that she wasn't waking her, Thea knocked.

On the other side of the door, Felicity finished pulling her hair into a haphazard bun and then stepped out of her bathroom. When she swung open her bedroom door and found Thea Queen standing on the other side, coffee mug in one hand, her mouth went slack in surprise. That surprise doubled when Thea smiled; Felicity had a scant second to wonder if she was about to get a steaming cup of coffee to the face when Thea spoke.

"Hi," Thea said pleasantly. "I'm Thea. It's nice to meet you, Felicity."

Felicity stared dumbly at the hand that Thea had extended. After several long seconds passed in which Thea didn't retract that hand, Felicity finally reached for it and gave it a shake.

"Uh … hi, Thea."

Thea offered her the coffee mug. "I brought you coffee. I asked Raisa how you liked it, but if it doesn't taste right, uh, I'm sorry."

Felicity took the mug from her but didn't speak. She had no idea what to say or what was going on, and a part of her thought that she was either dreaming or being pranked. Thea had said nothing to her since her arrival that wasn't snide or outright rude, if she deigned to speak to her at all. Now here she was, bringing Felicity coffee and introducing herself as if none of those things had happened.

"Is it poisoned?" Felicity blurted. "Is this gonna be like a scene out of Snow White where I take a single bite and fall into eternal slumber? I mean, I guess it'd be a single drink, since it's coffee and not an apple, but … you get my point."

Thea blinked. When she'd processed Felicity's question and the point beneath all of the rambling, she smiled – truly smiled. Sure, it was a little … odd, but it was also kind of funny.

"No," she answered easily. "No danger of eternal slumber here."

"Okay," Felicity replied, drawing out the first vowel. She glanced at the liquid in an attempt to asses the risk; a moment later she decided that, poisoned or not, it was still coffee.

Thea watched her closely. When Felicity didn't make a disgusted face, she decided to count it as a victory.

"Thank you," Felicity said sincerely. "It's perfect."

Thea nodded and tried to mask her nervousness by shifting her feet and crossing her arms over her chest. "Would you … Raisa has breakfast ready downstairs. We could eat together, if you want."

"What?"

No way was Thea asking to spend time with her. Everything about this was surreal for Felicity.

Thea blew out a breath and straightened up. She needed to do this right. "I'm sorry, Felicity. I don't know you, and I've been nothing but awful to you since you got here even though you've done nothing to deserve it. I just … I've had kind of a terrible year, and I've been so mad at Ollie – but that's not the point. The point is that I've said some terrible things to you, and I'm sorry."

Felicity studied Thea. She wasn't a carbon copy of her brother, but it wasn't hard to see the relation; Thea's face was more open and easier to read. Felicity was willing to bet that Thea had a considerably smaller amount of secrets to hide than Oliver did. At any rate, she was comfortable concluding that Thea's apology was sincere.

"Is there French toast?" she asked.

Thea nodded.

"She makes the best French toast," Felicity said as she smiled and stepped out of her room.

Thea visibly relaxed and then returned her smile. "Ollie says the same thing."

They'd just turned to make their way down the hall when both women glanced up in unison to find Oliver leaning against his doorframe, watching them silently. The sight of him brought them both up short, albeit for different reasons.

Felicity tried not to stare; tried, and failed spectacularly. Oliver was clad only in a pair of dark blue sweats that were slung unfairly low on his hips. His abs defined the term "washboard"; in fact, the definition of his muscles was unreal. His torso was covered in scars and tattoos. The scars gave her pause – she didn't want to contemplate how he'd gotten them, or lived through some of the nastier ones – but the overall effect was … overpowering. Oliver Queen was beautiful.

"Unfair," Felicity muttered. It sounded like a curse.

Oliver raised an eyebrow and Felicity pressed her lips together in embarrassment. Of course he'd heard her.

"Ollie," Thea said in a rush. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

His attention turned to his sister. Felicity took the advantage of the distraction and tried to will the blush away from her cheeks (and her eyes away from his naked chest).

"It's Saturday, Thea."

"Oh." Thea was too busy trying to discern how much of her conversation with Felicity he'd heard to say anything else.

"We're going down for breakfast," Felicity informed him. "If you wanna come."

Oliver pushed away from the doorframe and retreated into his room to grab a shirt. He felt Felicity's eyes track him across the room, but when he turned around her face was hidden by the rim of her coffee cup. He tugged the shirt on and joined them in the hallway.

The way Raisa grinned at them when they entered the kitchen caught Felicity off guard. She looked so pleased to see them all together finally, and it occurred to Felicity then that the three of them had been in a room together less than a handful of times since she'd arrived. Raisa said something in Russian and then nodded to herself before setting to putting their breakfast plates together.

Thea waited until they were seated, full coffee cups in hand, before turning her attention on Felicity. She hadn't planned on Oliver's presence but she wasn't going to let it keep her from following through with her plan.

"So," she started nicely. "I'm sorry for being such a bitch to you."

"Thank you," Felicity answered without hesitation.

"How long have you and Ollie been married? He's never mentioned you."

Felicity paused with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth. The truth was on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to lie to this girl, but maybe Oliver had been right, and Thea couldn't be trusted with the truth. One nice act and civil conversation didn't erase the fact that she had been consistently awful to Felicity. Thea didn't deserve a lie but she'd done nothing to earn the truth, either. Especially when the truth was dangerous.

"A year," Felicity finally answered.

"Why didn't you say anything, Ollie?"

"Felicity asked me not to."

"I wasn't ready for …" Felicity waved her hand vaguely through the air. "All of this. My family isn't wealthy."

"I figured." Thea didn't realize how biting her words seemed until she caught Oliver glaring at her. She hurried to clarify. "I wasn't trying to be mean. You just don't seem very comfortable with it, is all."

Raisa put heaping plates of hot food down in front of them. She'd given Oliver and Felicity French toast, but Thea had blueberry pancakes. Felicity was turning to thank her when she appeared again with the carafe and topped off their coffee cups.

"Thank you, Raisa."

"You are welcome, Miss Felicity."

When Raisa had retreated Felicity cut her eyes first to Thea, then to Oliver. "Does anyone ever manage to finish all the food on their plate in this house?"

Thea grinned. "Digg," she said quickly. "And Ollie, sometimes. When he isn't worrying about his girlish figure."

"Yeah right. I could cut my toast on those abs."

The minute the words had left her mouth Felicity desperately wanted to take them back. She really, _really_ hadn't meant to say that out loud.

There was no way to tell who started laughing first. Thea's laughter was the loudest and she bent at the middle, a hand pressed into her stomach as she tried to breathe; Oliver's was quiet and a little breathy, but Felicity heard it perfectly.

"I didn't mean that," Felicity mumbled. "Well, I meant it, I just didn't mean to say it. Out loud. In front of other people."

She buried her face in her mug and cursed her faulty brain-to-mouth filter.

"I think that's the best compliment you've ever gotten, Ollie," Thea said when she'd managed to stop laughing long enough to speak. "But if you like his abs so much, how come you're sleeping in different rooms?"

"We're working through some things," Oliver replied.

"Like my ability to embarrass myself to death," Felicity added dryly.

"The circus is in town," a new voice said then.

Felicity flinched in surprise. She caught herself rolling her shoulders forward and leaning toward Oliver – away from the voice – and stopped mid-movement. Inhaling deeply, she forced her shoulders to relax and straightened up just as Digg came into her line of sight.

Felicity cleared her throat. "Sorry. Uh, what circus?"

"The paparazzi," Digg said. He took a seat in the chair next to her and Raisa appeared with a cup of coffee for him. "They're lined up outside the front gate."

"Why?" Thea questioned.

Digg glanced at Oliver and Felicity. "You're on the news. QC released a statement this morning about the new Queen in town."

Felicity thought maybe all the blood had left her face. Oliver had warned her, but now that it was happening … she wasn't ready. Her name and face were on the news. The anonymity that she had found in the last two weeks was gone, and her whereabouts were being blasted to the public at that very moment. If her father hadn't known before where she'd disappeared to, it was only a matter of time before he did now. Her plan to take back her life and save her mother might have been crazy, but there was no escaping it now.

Her world was a theater and she'd been called to the stage.

A warm hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Hey."

Felicity looked at it and then lifted her eyes to lock gazes with Oliver.

"You okay?"

"I will be." She didn't have a choice.


	7. Chapter 6

_**AN: sorry this took so long. I'm away for the holidays and when I left this chapter was done **_**_except for the last, maybe, 200 words - and then between my family and the holiday I've only just barely had the chance to sit down and finish the chapter. _**

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Sara's offer to teach Felicity self-defense was actually an invitation to an ass kicking; a friendly ass kicking, but an ass kicking all the same. Sara put her through basic movements for an hour and a half before declaring that she'd thrown enough information at her for one day. By the time Felicity made it back to her room for a shower, she was seriously considering curling up in the middle of her bed and not moving for the next forty-eight hours.<p>

Felicity had finished washing her hair when she decided that standing was too taxing. She turned the shower knob to a hotter setting and then lowered herself gingerly to the floor. For a while, she simply closed her eyes and sat under the spray of water, concentrating on the way her hair slowly slid down over her face and nothing else. She stayed there until her fingers were first class prunes.

When she'd finished showering, Felicity dressed with care. She loved fashion – she always had – and took pride in her appearance, but there was a new pressure to present herself well now. She chose a color block dress that her mother loved and left her hair down, long and straight with just a little curl at the ends. Felicity had worn her contacts for the training session with Sara and hadn't bothered to take them out for the shower, so she figured there was no point in doing so now.

When she was finished and staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, Felicity admitted to herself that a part of her was dressing up for Oliver. After Diggle's statement about the press release and waiting media, Oliver had taken her aside and told her that it would be easier on them if they engaged the vultures on their own terms. Then he'd asked her to dinner. It was a date that wasn't a date, and there'd been nothing romantic about the way it came about, but Felicity was touched anyway – Oliver kept surprising her with his quiet consideration. He'd warned her about the paparazzi last night and the dinner tonight was clearly for her benefit: Oliver wanted to control her first experience with the media as his wife as much as he could.

Oliver Queen was quickly proving that he was not at all the man Felicity had expected to find when she'd put her plan in motion. Her only experience with powerful men was a twisted Italian Mafioso – and Oliver was nothing like Angelo De Luca. In fact, he wasn't much like any man she'd known before. He was serious but not unkind; observant and attentive, but aloof; perceptive, but reserved. A strange mixture, all things considered, and Felicity didn't always know how to handle that. She hated mysteries, and so much of Oliver seemed to be exactly that: a mystery.

A mystery with unfairly good looks and a chest that she'd happily do body shots off of for the rest of her life.

"Don't go there, Smoak," she muttered to herself.

Felicity was looking for the black stilettos she wanted to wear when her eyes fell on the door that connected her bedroom to Oliver's. Thea's question from breakfast came back to her: _how come you're sleeping in different rooms? _Felicity had been prepared for that question, but she knew that her answer would only hold water for so long. Thea wasn't the only one that they had to worry about asking that question, either. Felicity didn't have a concrete idea of how many people were employed on the grounds of the Queen mansion, but she knew it had to be a lot. Even the strictest confidentiality clause wouldn't stop someone's tongue if it wanted to wag. The circle of people that Felicity trusted was a small one, and didn't include people that she didn't know – or see. Starting today - now, she was Felicity Queen; appearances needed to be kept up.

For the first time since she'd moved in, Felicity crossed the room and unlocked the adjoining door and then pulled it open slowly.

"Oliver?"

There was no answer. Curious, she leaned forward and surveyed the parts of the room that she could see: his bed was the size of hers and directly to the left, with blue sheets that were in a state of disarray. Directly across from her was a couch that faced a fireplace and beyond that, the door into the hallway stood open. There was a sailboat on the mantle of the fireplace. The room was clean and obviously lived in, but Felicity found it … impersonal. There was nothing in the space to hint at the character or individuality of its inhabitant. That was odd.

Felicity left the door open and retreated. She took a seat at her desk and made a mental note to ask either Raisa or Oliver where the Ibuprofen was kept the next time she saw them. She opened her laptop and pulled the tablet over to sit beside it, figuring that she could get some more work done while she killed time.

The USB drive that she'd put together had all the information that she'd managed to steal from her father's computer. Invoices for illegal deliveries, secure coded emails, even rosters of some of the top names in De Luca's organization; the only problem that Felicity was running in to was figuring out how to feed the information to the cops without implicating either herself or her mother. Her first idea had been to tip off the Starling City Police Department. She'd held off when she realized that they probably had no idea who De Luca was – the Italians had no presence in this city – and that they had no jurisdiction over him. The heart of her father's operation was in Las Vegas, and that's where the strike would have to come from.

The sheer amount and nature of the information that Felicity had stolen presented its own problem: if it got out, her father would know exactly where it had come from. She hadn't bothered with the small stuff, choosing instead to pirate documents straight from her father's computer. At the time, Felicity had been focused on the strength of what she could steal – it needed to be ironclad proof, and damning, and it was. As such, no one would have access to that information but De Luca himself, and his genius daughter. His genius daughter whose hacking and computer skills he'd exploited extensively for the last two years.

Felicity had the information; she had the tools, and no way to use them that wouldn't either tip off her father, or drive him to retaliation. Both of those things would be worth the risk to her if she knew that her mother was safe. Felicity would go to every police station and media outlet within a tri-state area and blast De Luca without a second thought if Donna Smoak were out of his reach. That wasn't the case though: she'd left her mother in Vegas, defenseless, and she knew her father well enough to know that his revenge would come at the cost of her mother.

"Heads up!" a voice called from the hall.

Felicity turned in her seat to watch Sara walk through the open door. She smiled. After their conversation in the hall the first day they'd met, Sara had taken to announcing her presence before she came into view. Felicity hadn't realized she was doing it until days later, or that it was Sara's way of making sure she didn't startle her until the other woman had mentioned that, along with self-defense, she could also teach Felicity to be more aware of her surroundings. That had been the first time Felicity hugged her.

"Whoa," Sara teased when she saw her. "Bombshell alert."

"Yeah?" Felicity asked. She wasn't as certain as Sara sounded. "Do you think it's nice enough? The dress, I mean. It's not top of the line, but …"

"I like the dress," Sara replied. "And you're beautiful. Why the nerves?"

"The game's afoot." Felicity blew out a breath. "Oliver and I are having dinner tonight to sate the apparently rabid media. Digg said they've been lined up outside the mansion since the news got out."

"I saw them on my way in," Sara said as she plopped down on the bed. She grinned. "They're calling you the 'new darling of Starling'."

Felicity was horrified. "They are not!"

Sara laughed and nodded. "Oh, they definitely are."

"Worst moniker ever," Felicity grumbled.

"I think it's cute." Sara glanced at the adjoining door. "Ollie's here."

"What's cute?" Oliver said moments later. He stopped under the doorframe and gave Felicity a questioning look, glancing from the open door and back to her.

"Appearances, right? Figured I'd leave it open during the day, that way if anyone looks in it'll look like we're just taking up two rooms."

"Smart."

"They're calling Felicity the new darling of Starling," Sara announced gleefully. Her grin widened when Felicity rolled her eyes. "It's cute."

"It's not cute," Felicity insisted. To change the subject she said to Oliver, "Do you have ibuprofen somewhere? Sara wore me out earlier." A pause, and then, "Did that – that sounded sexual, didn't it? I didn't mean it that way, obviously. I just mean that I'm sore. Not like, sore from sex, I wasn't … we weren't …"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted.

Sara was laughing. "You're cute."

"Don't let me speak to the media. Ever."

"I have ibuprofen in my bathroom," Oliver told her. He moved right past her verbal gaffe. "C'mon."

He waited for Felicity to stand before turning and leading her across his room to the bathroom. She stopped outside the door and scanned the area while he retrieved the bottle of analgesics from the drawer.

Felicity was half turned away from him. She was looking away, and Oliver took a moment to study her. Without heels on he was reminded of how small she was: her head reached to the middle of his chest at most. Her dress was modest but displayed her curves effortlessly, and Oliver let his eyes linger for a second longer than was entirely proper. Felicity was beautiful.

Her voice interrupted his study of her. "Has this always been your room?"

"Why?"

Felicity shrugged one shoulder. "It just doesn't feel like you, I guess."

She'd turned her attention to him, and Oliver arched an eyebrow. The words 'and what do I feel like?' were right on the tip of his tongue, but he managed to bite them back. Instead he handed her the bottle in his hand and said, "Oh?"

"It's not very personal."

"I don't spend a lot of time in here."

He watched her unscrew the cap. Her nails were painted a yellow that almost matched the twin spots of color that brightened the sides of her dress. The splash of color across the gray pulled his eyes to her waist and the gentle flare of her hips.

"Do you like Italian?" Oliver needed to stop staring at her.

Felicity pursed her lips at him and furrowed her brow as she tipped her head to the side. The reaction was so unexpected that it snapped Oliver to his senses; he replayed his question in his mind and then huffed out a breathy chuckle.

"Food," he clarified. "Italian food."

In front of him, Felicity smiled brightly. The expression was sincere and Oliver wasn't expecting it to strike him the way it did. The magnitude of it – the moment of easy joy behind it – made him realize that he'd never seen her smile so earnestly before, and it threw all of his previous interactions with her into sharp relief. She hadn't complained or even given any outward indication of it, but Felicity was unhappy here. _Who wouldn't be unhappy_, he asked himself, _alone in a house where you were either neglected or insulted at every turn?_

"I love Italian food," Felicity answered.

"Good. Dinner is in an hour."

"I'll leave you to get ready. Thanks for the ibuprofen."

Oliver shook his head when she tried to hand it back to him. "Keep it. You're gonna need it."

"Good point."

He did his best not to stare at her ass as he watched her disappear into her room.

Sara was stretched out on her stomach when Felicity stepped back into her room. She had her chin in one hand and her phone in the other, and when she saw Felicity she grinned and held the device out to her. Felicity crossed the space and leaned down far enough to read the display: it was a website for the _Starling City Times. _The headline said in bold letters, _The New Darling of Starling: Who is Felicity Queen?_

"I should crash their website out of spite."

She could just hear the faint sound of a shower turning on.

Sara dropped her phone onto the blankets and then twisted herself into an upright position so that she could scoot to the end of the bed.

"You ready for this?" she asked seriously.

"I better be," Felicity replied, sitting next to her and extending her legs in front of her. "I don't have much of a choice. And I did bring it on myself, after all."

"Still. It's a lot to deal with."

Felicity glanced at her friend. "Which part? The sudden media exposure – which is insane, by the way – or the part where I have to pretend to be in love with a man I've known for two weeks?"

Sara bumped Felicity's arm with her shoulder. "Both. But no one said you had to pretend to be in love. There are plenty of rich people who get married for the power, or prestige. Plenty of people in general, really, who marry without love."

"True," Felicity agreed. "You're coming, right? You and Digg?"

"We are, but we won't be in the restaurant. Worried about being alone with Ollie?"

Sara was teasing her again, but she was also right. Sort of. "Only that I'll say something horribly embarrassing, as usual," Felicity admitted.

In the other room, the water shut off. Felicity took it as her cue to stand up and snatch her stilettos out of the closet. She was halfway back to the bed when she stopped, glanced down at the shoes, and then held them out to Sara.

"Should I go with black? Or nude?"

Sara studied her. "Show me the other ones."

Felicity retrieved them and held them up to her dress.

"The nudes," Sara decided. "Black is too harsh."

Felicity tossed the unwanted pair of heels on the floor next to her bed and then sat to pull the other ones on. When that was done she stepped into the bathroom and dabbed her favorite perfume onto her wrists and neck; a quick check of her makeup, and Felicity declared herself ready.

"How do I look?" she asked as she emerged.

Sara had disappeared. Instead, Oliver stood in the middle of her room.

"Beautiful," he answered.

Her mouth went dry. "Sorry, I thought Sara was still here."

"I sent her down to bring the car around with Digg. Ready?"

Felicity nodded and retrieved her cell phone and purse before turning to head for the door. Oliver held his arm out for her and she took it gingerly.

"Ready as I'll ever be," she murmured.

* * *

><p>The moment Felicity took Oliver's hand and let him help her from the car, people started calling her name. She tried to focus on Oliver's face but the rapid fire of camera flashes was blinding. Felicity stood immobile for several heartbeats, overwhelmed and paralyzed.<p>

Oliver wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his side. He turned his head so that his lips fell against the hair above her ear and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

"Digg is right in front of you," he whispered to her. "Keep your eyes on his feet. It'll help with the flashes."

Felicity nodded. She found Digg with her eyes and watched as he turned and held his arm out to usher them forward, and then did as Oliver had said and dropped her gaze to his feet. With the hand around her waist Oliver turned her farther into his chest and stepped forward.

She followed his lead automatically. All around her strange voices called out different variations of her name – Felicity and Mrs. Queen and Felicity Queen – and asked Oliver for a statement. Felicity ignored them and occupied herself by trying to guess what cologne Oliver was wearing. She liked it.

Felicity looked up in time to see Digg pull the door to the restaurant open. The bodyguard gave her a barely there smile as they passed, and then the din of reporters fell away and they were inside. She took a deep breath.

"Okay?" Oliver queried.

She nodded and turned her head to look at him. Before she had a chance to say anything the host was welcoming them.

"Good evening, Mr. Queen. Mrs. Queen. If you'll follow me, please."

Oliver didn't release her until they'd been shown to their private table. Felicity was surprised to see that, while they had a mostly unimpeded view of the restaurant floor, they were sequestered in an alcove that was walled on three sides. She smiled at Oliver when he held her chair out for her.

"Thank you," she said as she took her seat.

"You're welcome."

When their waiter came to take their drink orders, Oliver ordered a neat scotch and Felicity went with a glass of red wine that was probably more expensive than most of the bottles of wine she'd bought in her life combined. She tried not to think about it. To divert herself, Felicity reached for a menu – except there wasn't one. Confused, she cast her eyes to the space in front of Oliver, but he didn't have a menu either.

Oliver smiled when he saw her confusion. "Wait and see."

The words had barely left his mouth when an older man appeared at their table. Streaks of gray swept across his temples and into his hat, and Felicity felt her mouth fall open when she realized that it was the Chef.

"Look at you," the man said to Oliver. "You're wasting away! That's what you get for staying away so long."

Oliver shook his head in mock exasperation and stood to shake the Chef's hand. When he turned his attention to her Felicity stood and offered the Chef a smile and her hand.

"Sid, I'd like you to meet Felicity. Felicity, this is Sid. He makes the best Italian food in the city."

"State," Sid corrected. He took her hand and drew it to his lips instead of shaking it, pressing them into the skin above her knuckles. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. And may I extend my condolences."

Felicity swallowed. "Uh, for what?"

"He means …" Oliver started.

"For marrying this idiot, of course," Sid said, talking right over Oliver. In a fake whisper he said, "It's okay, we all know he's hideous. It's nice of you to let him out every once in a while, though."

Felicity laughed and leaned forward, over the hand of hers that Sid still held. "Finally, someone who understands. The struggle is real, Sid."

She shot a smile at Oliver and felt her breath catch in her throat when their gazes met. He was studying her intently, and though he'd done it before there was something in the way he was doing it now that made her throat feel dry. Felicity couldn't shake the feeling that she was being noticed; that she was being seen, truly, for the first time in years.

"You can let go of her hand now, Sid."

Felicity's stomach swooped wildly. The words weren't a command, exactly, but there was a dry note behind the humor that Sid either didn't notice or chose to ignore. He did release her hand though.

"Now," Sid continued. "Let me look at you!" He stepped back and surveyed her in a way more suited to a tailor than a chef. Then he clapped his hands. "Right. I know the perfect dish. Sit tight and try not to miss me."

Sid winked at Oliver as he said the last part and then vanished. Stunned, Felicity turned questioning eyes to her dinner date, but found that she didn't actually know what to ask first.

"What was that?" she finally managed as they reseated themselves.

"Sid doesn't believe in menus. He chooses a dish off of your drink choice and what you're wearing."

"What?" Felicity deadpanned. "Is he … does that work?"

Oliver nodded. "Has so far."

Silence stretched between them for a bit then. The lull in conversation was odd, not because it felt stilted or awkward, but because Felicity didn't know how to fill it and Oliver didn't seem bothered by it. He wasn't tense, really, but he wasn't completely relaxed either; on edge was the figure of speech that came to mind. Was he uncomfortable? Irritated? Upset because he was with her, and not someone else?

A new thought occurred to Felicity then. She was mildly irritated that it hadn't occurred to her before, because it was such an obvious thing to think about – such a basic question to ask, and she was only now thinking of it.

"Oliver?"

He answered her by fixing his eyes on her.

"I'm sorry I didn't think to ask this before," Felicity started, "But did I – have I come between you and someone else?"

Oliver furrowed his brow in confusion. "What?"

"I never asked if you were seeing someone," she clarified. "I mean, I don't care if you are, obviously, I just … I don't want to make things difficult for you. More than I already have, anyway."

Oliver sighed and rolled his shoulders back and down in an act of nervousness that Felicity clearly recognized. Her question had made him uncomfortable.

"No," he answered. "There hasn't been anyone in a while. You?"

Felicity chuckled but it came out dry and bitter. She turned her eyes down to the table and ran her pointer finger over the bottom of her wineglass.

"My life hasn't exactly been conducive to a relationship in the last few years." She kept her voice quiet. "Being alone is …"

"Easier?" Oliver supplied when she let the sentence trail away.

Felicity nodded. "If I was seeing someone, I don't know how I'd tell them about … anything."

Oliver didn't reply. His eyes followed her finger as it did another loop around the bottom of her wineglass. What a lonely pair they made. His loneliness was self-imposed at least, and a necessary measure of protection for the people he cared about. Felicity was alone because she was too busy trying to survive to worry about things like romance. The injustice there was that, though Oliver didn't know her well, he felt he was right in thinking that Felicity was someone who had a lot to give in the heart department. She was intelligent, beautiful, and fiercely loyal; loving enough to beg, bribe or steal for those she loved.

The only person that had ever loved Oliver with that kind of devotion had been his mother, and she was gone. He was alone in his power and responsibility, the protector and never the protected; Felicity was alone in her struggle and purpose, the lover and never the loved. They were opposites but not at odds.

The arrival of their food interrupted his train of thought. The dark expression that had moved over Felicity's face fell away as she watched their waiter deliver the food with fascination. Oliver was not adept at moving quickly through his emotions – he had a hard time shaking off the gray moods that took hold – but the woman across from him made it look like an art form. The shadows disappeared and in their place, curiosity and excitement blossomed.

Felicity took a bite of her food and made a quiet mewling sound in the back of her throat. "This is better than sex," she almost whined.

Oliver's hand tightened on his fork. Felicity didn't notice. In all fairness, she seemed to have momentarily forgotten he was there.

"I mean, I'll admit it's been a while," she continued, staring at her plate as she did so. "But the point still stands. I've never understood how food could be considered orga-"

"Felicity," Oliver bit out.

She lifted wide eyes to him and blushed when she found him glaring at her. Felicity cleared her throat and took a drink of her wine to cover her embarrassment.

"Sorry."

_Great job, Smoak,_ she chided herself silently_, because sex is such a good topic for dinner conversation. Wonderful._

She managed to make it through the rest of the meal without another verbal gaffe. Sid reappeared as their plates were being taken away and Felicity did her best to get him to reveal how he'd managed to pick the perfect dish for her. The chef laughed and demurred, claiming that it was his own particular brand of magic and that she needed to find her own. Felicity laughed at that.

"I'm not much of a magician," she told him.

Sid waggled his eyebrows at her and kissed the back of her hand again in farewell. "It's easier to see magic when you're not the one making it." He winked at Oliver, shook his hand, and left.

"I like him," Felicity announced.

"The feeling is mutual," Oliver answered.

Oliver paid the bill and stood. Felicity had already pushed her chair away from the table, so he offered her his hand and helped her to her feet. He instinctively started to let go of her and then thought better of it. She was surprised by the continued contact for only a moment before she cleared the expression from her face. Instead, she smiled – it was a small smile, quiet and even tremulous. The smile wasn't meant to please strangers or be witnessed by paparazzi, but was instead a show of solidarity. The message was wordless, but Oliver heard it loud and clear: _we're in this together_. On impulse, in answer, he gave her hand a quick squeeze.

They didn't let go until they were in the town car, and the watching eyes of the world had faded away with the night.


	8. Chapter 7

_**AN: Sorry guys. This one isn't very long and it's taken me way too long to write, but real life isn't being kind to me at the moment. I'll try to get the next one up sooner. **_

* * *

><p>Her heart hurt. The panicked thing fluttered wildly in her breast; it was a drum beating an uneven, off beat tune. Felicity tried to focus on her breathing, but it was a difficult task when she was certain that at any moment her heart would either explode out of her chest, or collapse, or crumble beneath its own weight. She pressed an open palm against the skin of her left breast as though that would contain the heart within.<p>

Felicity inhaled deeply. She held the air in her lungs and counted to ten in time with her footsteps, and then exhaled slowly. Again and again the action was repeated as she paced the hallway; again and again it failed to slow the frantic, painful beating of her heart. Frustrated, Felicity lengthened her stride and moved up and down the hall at a faster pace. She eyed the stairs and then barreled down them as quickly as she could without making an overwhelming amount of noise.

When she alighted in the foyer she was winded, but the pressure in her chest felt marginally lessened. Desperate, spurned on by the tiny success, Felicity dropped to her back on the floor right there and started doing crunches with a vengeance.

"Odd time for a workout," a quiet voice commented dryly.

Felicity stopped at the end of the crunch and cut her eyes to the other side of the room. Digg was looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"Are you okay?" he inquired.

She popped to her feet and pressed a hand into her chest again. The combination of sudden exercise and panic made her breathless.

"Anxiety attack," Felicity explained. Her calm tone of voice belied the pressure that was bearing down on her. Strange that she should sound so collected when it was all she could do to keep whatever beast was within her from ripping her asunder in an attempt to break free.

"Is the movement helping?"

She nodded. "A little. I think."

"C'mon," Digg said, shucking his head toward one of the hallways.

The bodyguard waited until Felicity was beside him to start walking. He chose a pace that was not much quicker than his usual walk, but that proved more strenuous for the small woman with him. Her strides were not as long as his and so for every one that he took, she took two. Digg watched her as they moved down the hallway but she gave no sign that she wanted to slow. He kept up the pace.

"Do they happen a lot?" Digg asked as they traveled. "The anxiety attacks?"

"They do now," Felicity admitted. Her shins had started to burn as she kept up with him, the pace too fast for her usual walk and too slow to warrant a slow jog. They were silent for a bit until she said, quite suddenly, "I haven't had one in a while. I've had so much on my mind, and I just … haven't had time, I guess? That's crazy, right, I mean, how can you not have time for an anxiety attack? Pretend I didn't say that."

Digg turned his head to study her but didn't stop moving. "When I was in Afghanistan, my commanding officer started having panic attacks. We did our best to help her through them, but there wasn't much we could do. A few months into the deployment, a few of us noticed that she never had the attacks during an op or firefight. They always happened in the quiet moments – mostly at night." Here Digg paused. Felicity's shins were on fire and she'd started to struggle with the pace, so he stopped and turned to face her in the middle of the semi-dark hallway. "Anyway, I asked her about it once, about why she thought that these attacks happened in relatively safe moments, when there was nothing outright dangerous happening."

"Instead of during the scary, life or death moments, you mean?" Felicity asked.

Digg nodded. "And ya know what she said? She said, 'those are the easy times, Johnny. I'm too busy thinking about it – trying to stay alive – to feel it. It's only later, when I'm still alive and my heart has time to catch up, that I panic.'"

"Like a sensory overload," she supplied.

"Something like that," he agreed. "You've uprooted your whole life in the last month, Felicity, and I get the feeling that whatever that life was, it was just one long firefight. This is your safe moment. Your chance to feel instead of think. Your brain knows what's going on, and now your heart is trying to catch up."

Felicity's throat tightened without warning. She raised her eyes abruptly to the ceiling and blinked furiously against the sting of tears, but they would not be denied. She felt a handful of them slip down her cheeks. Irritated with herself for crying, Felicity tipped her chin down again and ignored the tears to look Digg in the eye. He didn't appear bothered by her emotional state, and he didn't look away.

"I don't know what I expected when I first came here," she started softly. "But it wasn't this. I've known more kindness here in a month, from total strangers, than I did in the two years I lived with the man who had a hand in making me. How awful is that?"

Digg didn't answer. He studied Felicity quietly, taking in her bright pajama pants and dark glasses; she was young, and struck him as even younger in that moment as another tear slipped unnoticed down her cheek. Oliver was crazy for agreeing to her proposition – crazy for believing that Felicity Smoak was who she said she was, and that she could be trusted, based only on the presence of a hunch – but he wasn't wrong for helping her. Oliver was impulsive and reckless in spades, but he was a good man with a compassionate heart. Felicity had gone to him for help and he had been right to give it to her. Something that Digg was only now taking to heart.

"What happened to her?" Felicity queried. "Your commanding officer?"

Digg smiled. "I married her."

Felicity laughed and wiped the half-dry tears from her face.

"C'mon," Digg said as he started walking again. "I have a whole other wing to check."

* * *

><p>Thea was sitting at the table and nursing a cup of coffee when Felicity went down for breakfast. The younger Queen looked up from her tablet and gave her a smile. Felicity returned it, albeit somewhat tremulously; part of her was still concerned that Thea might revert back to her less than savory behavior from before.<p>

"You feeling okay?" Thea asked as Felicity sat down next to her.

"Fine. Why?"

Thea shrugged. "Just look a little tired, that's all."

Felicity nodded slowly. She was tired. She'd accompanied Digg on his security rounds and then been surprised when he'd offered to sit with her for a while until she felt ready to go to bed. The bodyguard hadn't pressed her for information or asked her questions like she'd expected. Digg had simply sat with her in easy silence until Felicity found herself telling him that sometimes she was afraid to close her eyes at night because she didn't want to dream about her mother being dead. Digg hadn't answered, but he had hugged her, and walked her to her room twenty minutes later when she couldn't stop yawning. He still scared her a little – he was a large man, after all, and generally so stoic that she had a hard time reading him – but she'd woken thinking that maybe John Diggle didn't hate her after all.

"Couldn't sleep," Felicity explained. "What're you reading?"

"It's about you, actually." Thea grinned and slid her tablet across the table to Felicity. "TMZ article."

Felicity groaned and scanned the article quickly. The reporter hadn't said anything negative about her, at least. The picture that accompanied it showed her and Oliver leaving the restaurant: Felicity's face was angled downward and half hidden by Oliver's chest. They were holding hands. She pushed the piece of technology back to Thea.

"It's not the worst picture," Thea started. "Considering you're pretty much hidden behind Ollie. But it got me thinking. The paparazzi's probably gonna be on the lookout for ya for awhile, and I don't remember seeing you bring a lot of suitcases, so … I thought we could do some shopping today, if you're not busy."

Felicity's hand paused halfway to her mouth in surprise and nearly splashed coffee over the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes felt large in her face as she made eye contact with Thea.

"You want to take me shopping?"

Discomfited, Thea squirmed in her chair and cleared her throat softly. "Uh, yeah. I thought, ya know, maybe you might have forgotten some things, or …" She shrugged and averted her eyes to her coffee cup. "I like shopping. I used to go with my mom. We'd get lunch and make a day of it."

Felicity licked her lips nervously. "What happened to her?"

Thea's head shot up quickly. She didn't look angry, just … uncertain. "Ollie didn't tell you?"

Right. She was supposedly his wife, and what wife didn't know where her mother-in-law was or what had happened to her? Hell, Oliver knew where Felicity's mom was, but she hadn't asked him about his.

"I didn't know how to ask," Felicity replied truthfully.

"Oh." Thea blew out a breath. "She, uh. She was killed about a year ago. Cops found her body on a street in the Glades. She just left work one night and never made it home. No ransom demands or anything. The cops say it might have been a revenge killing, but they don't really know, and they never caught the guy that killed her."

A tense, breathless moment passed in which Felicity was convinced that she was going to throw up the half a cup of coffee she'd already drank. The hand that held her coffee cup had started to shake. She set it down slowly and tried to swallow past the lump that had formed in her throat.

"Thea …" Her voice faltered. "I'm sorry." She wanted to continue, but what could she say? What words could she offer that wouldn't seem like a paltry attempt to gloss over the loss that she – and Oliver – had suffered?

Felicity could tell Thea about her own situation. She could share her fear that Donna Smoak might have suffered the same fate already, or would possibly do so soon; she could try to make Thea see that they had much in common, or that she wasn't alone; she could spill her guts at that very moment in trembling, choked words and beg Thea to keep her secret. Felicity could do any and all of those things, but none of them would help Thea Queen. Instead, she sighed quietly and willed her hands to stop shaking so that she could drape one of them over the hand of Thea's that rested on the tabletop.

"I'd love to go shopping with you," Felicity said evenly. "But I don't have any money."

Thea shook off her melancholy and made an emphatic _psh _sound. "Of course you do, you're a Queen. We can even stop by QC and see if Ollie wants to have lunch before we go. And I know all of the best boutiques, there's this one downtown that mom and I used to go to all the time. Eva, the lady that owns the store, knows me by name now."

Felicity smiled as Thea gathered up her tablet and excused herself to get ready. She was halfway out the door when she called back for Felicity to hurry up and get ready, and her clear enthusiasm warmed Felicity's heart. There were many things about Oliver's sister that she didn't fully understand yet, but what she did know made more sense now.

Felicity had been just a girl when her father had left them. She didn't remember it perfectly and she had seen how much it hurt her mother the few times she'd asked about it, so a lot of the details had been washed away with time. What Felicity did remember was being young – seven, maybe – and not understanding why her father didn't come home anymore; she remembered her mother telling her once that it was for the best, and Felicity hadn't understood that either. She'd known only that she'd lost something that she'd never known could be lost, and so she'd reacted in the only way that the young were capable of: she'd lashed out at the person closest to her.

Her father had reappeared in their lives many years later, when the ignorance of youth had long since faded, and Felicity had quickly learned that some things were better off lost.

Thea's loss had been more violent, though perhaps not more sudden. No wonder she had reacted so negatively to Felicity's arrival; she thought of the way Thea had spit the words "Mrs. Queen" at her. How awful that must have been for her after such a recent loss. Felicity had been acquainted with anger long enough to know that it made for a grim bedfellow, and whereas she had had Donna to bear the brunt of hers, it was clear to Felicity that Thea had no one. She chose to believe that Oliver loved his sister, but she'd been in the house long enough to know that he was rarely there. If that was how it'd always been, or was a new development and a result of their loss, Felicity didn't know. Either way it was understandable that Thea should feel abandoned now. It wasn't so strange that she should lash out at a stranger, really – that she had reacted so strongly to Felicity's presence.

Felicity studied her surroundings with a heavy heart. The Queen mansion was big, and beautiful, and hollow in all the ways that it should not have been. For all that it seemed to be full of people, it seemed to her then such a sad, lonely place.

Raisa bustled into the kitchen. She greeted Felicity warmly and started pulling drawers and cupboards open with easy familiarity. The activity drew Felicity out of her revelry and she finished her coffee in two gulps and then stood to carry it to the sink.

"Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes, Miss Felicity," Raisa called as she made for the door.

Felicity turned and offered the maid her warmest smile. "Thank you, Raisa."

She showered and dressed quickly in a nice blouse and pencil skirt ensemble. Every outfit Felicity had seen Thea in was designer and she knew without asking that whatever boutiques they visited today would be top of the line. While she wasn't ashamed of her lack of money, it was also important to Felicity to present herself well, and not just because she was supposedly the wife of one of the city's most well known billionaires. Felicity wanted to look good for herself.

She was sitting on the end of her bed and slipping her shoes on when she heard Sara.

"Morning," the other woman called distantly.

Felicity had time to finish with her shoes and stand to gather her purse before Sara actually appeared in the doorway.

"Morning," Felicity answered.

"Saw Thea in the foyer. She says we're going shopping?"

Felicity smiled. "Not my idea, for the record."

Sara nodded slowly and turned her gaze on her feet for a long minute. The action stuck out to Felicity because there was a heaviness to it that she hadn't often seen from her bodyguard. The contemplative way she studied her shoes was hesitant.

"Thank you," Sara said at last. She raised her eyes to Felicity again.

"For what?" Felicity retorted in surprise.

"For going shopping. For taking an interest, even though she was kind of awful to you. Thea's a good kid, but she's had a hard time of it and I know she can be …"

"Hard to handle?" Felicity offered.

"Mean," Sara said.

Felicity thought of the many fights she'd had with her mother and swallowed uncomfortably. "It's easy to be mean when you're angry and in pain," she said quietly. "She told me about what happened to her mom this morning. That's a hard thing to live through without everything else going on. I'll be the last person to hold it against her."

"Felicity! Are you done yet or what?" Thea's voice echoed down the hall. "Raisa won't let us leave until we've eaten."

Felicity smiled at Sara, who rolled her eyes in mock exasperation.

"I'm done, I'm done," Felicity answered as they left her room.

She wouldn't hold Thea's anger against her, but maybe she could find a way to help her through it. Maybe, just this once, she could make someone's life easier instead of the alternative.


	9. Chapter 8

_**AN: so I usually go for a word count when I'm writing each chapter. I don't consider a chapter finished until I've hit that word count - but I've decided not to do that anymore. I don't want to make you guys wait so long from chapter to chapter, and the spring semester starts for me on Thursday. In the interest of updating more often (and that I anticipate having less free time), the chapters will not be as long as they have been but will come faster (I hope). Also, thank you for your continued support of this story. It means a lot.**_

* * *

><p>She managed to talk Thea and Sara into taking her Mini Cooper instead of one of the more expensive Queen family vehicles. Felicity loved her car and it was nice to be surrounded again by something that was entirely hers, and unconnected to the ridiculous charade her life had become.<p>

Thea directed her to QC. Felicity didn't mention that she'd been there before and remembered how to get to the skyscraper; she just smiled and nodded and went where the other woman told her to go. The only time she'd been to the Queen Consolidated building she'd parked in an empty spot on the street, but Thea led them to the parking garage attached to one side. Thea clearly knew her way around her family's company.

Felicity was not from a wealthy family. Her mother had worked sixty-hour weeks in Vegas just to keep them afloat for most of her life, and she had paid for MIT through a slew of federal grants and scholarships. She was not accustomed to deference. The moment the three of them stepped into the ground floor of the Queen Consolidated building Felicity was thrown for a loop: people took notice of them. Some of them smiled brightly and some just tossed glances at them over their shoulders as they moved away, but they were undeniably _noticed_. The phenomenon was surreal for Felicity; Thea either didn't notice, or didn't care.

"Hi, Thea," the security guard at the checkpoint said as they approached. "Mrs. Queen."

"Hey, Aaron." Thea smiled and stepped through the metal detector without hesitation. The system beeped quickly.

Aaron grinned at her conspiratorially. "Weapons?" he teased.

Thea winked. "Class and crass."

This seemed to be some sort of running joke between them. Felicity didn't bother trying to understand it. She waited for Aaron to nod at her and then stepped through the metal detector. The security guard's demeanor toward her was respectful, but not nearly as warm as it had been with Thea. He warmed up again when Sara stepped through.

The difference struck Felicity hard. She had never met or seen Aaron the security guard before, and yet he treated her as though she were intrinsically different from him somehow. She couldn't help feeling as though she was an outsider – although from what, she didn't know. Was this what it was to be perceived as powerful?

Being noticed went against everything that Felicity had learned in the last few years. Walking through Queen Consolidated and feeling all those eyes watching her made her nervous in a way that was unexpected; she was unprepared for the way it made her skin crawl. Why were they staring at her? Why did they care who she was or what she was doing? The distance to Oliver's office felt impossible to cross under the attention, and she was immensely grateful when they stepped into the privacy of the elevator.

Then the elevator dinged and Felicity raised her eyes to find Oliver standing on the other side. His eyes narrowed in surprise, and the expression – the solidity and gravity of him – grounded her. Oliver knew who she was, and who she wasn't.

"Hi." Felicity's voice was shaky and breathless as though she'd just run through the office corridors rather than walked them normally. She hadn't meant to say anything at all, but the greeting had just slipped out.

"Hi," Oliver answered. His head tipped to the side ever so slightly. "You ok?"

Felicity nodded.

"Uh," Thea started in confusion. "We were just coming to see if you wanted to get lunch with us."

"I can't," Oliver answered. "I have another meeting in ten minutes. I was just heading downstairs, can I walk you out?"

Felicity might have noticed the way Thea visibly deflated or the disappointed way Sara was looking at Oliver if she hadn't been preoccupied trying to fend off the beginnings of a panic attack. She stepped back as Oliver stepped into the elevator on autopilot. The steel car was large enough to accommodate the four of them with ease, yet Oliver's presence filled it in a way that no one else's seemed to. He was a large man, but it was more than that: power radiated off of him like heat waves in such a small space. He was talking to his sister as the elevator descended and Felicity found herself taking a step closer to him, as if she could siphon off some of his unflappability for herself.

The anxiety rose to a fever pitch as the elevator stopped and deposited them on the ground floor again. Felicity tried to remind herself that the people in the building were just people and that it didn't matter if they stared at her. Why would they stare at her though? She pushed that thought away. _It doesn't matter_, she repeated. _No one is looking at you. Stop freaking out._

If people had taken notice of her on the way into the building, they were definitely taking notice of her now. Felicity had walked several steps before she realized that it wasn't just her that was drawing attention, or maybe not her at all – it was Oliver. People moved out of his way even as they offered him their greetings, and occasionally extended those greetings to her and Thea.

They had to pass directly by the security checkpoint that they had just gone through on the way in. Felicity tried not to cast a glance at Aaron the security guard and failed: he was watching them openly. He wasn't glaring and he didn't look overtly sinister, the way the movies had always taught her to expect, but the way he studied them as they passed made Felicity's skin crawl.

A memory rose unbidden then of a night not long after Felicity and Donna had found themselves ensnared by her father, Angelo De Luca. _If we can just keep our heads down long enough to not be noticed_, Felicity had told her mother, _I might be able to get us out of this. _They had succeeded at first, until De Luca had realized the full extent of Felicity's technological prowess. Her father – and oh, how she hated to attribute that title to him, how it burned her from the inside out to know that they shared even a single strand of DNA – had taken something that Felicity had always been proud of and turned it in to something to be resented. Computers were her love and her safe place; they had helped her through all the hard times of her life because they were reliable and trustworthy, and now that haven that technology had created for her was tinged with regret. Why did she have to be good at something her father could exploit?

Keeping her head down had become a skill for Felicity. The less she was noticed the less the lackeys that worked for her father would make lewd comments at her; the quieter she walked the harder it was for the big men with twisted leers to pop around corners and surprise her with a gun pressed to the back of her head or nose. Chasing and scaring her had become a sport within the compound of the Italian mob, and the braver men would even pull the trigger with empty magazines or the safety on just to laugh at the way she flinched at the click. No one dared strike the Mafioso's daughter, but terrifying her had been idle fun.

The paparazzi the other night had been one thing. Oliver had warned her about them and gossip hunting was their job. Felicity had not expected the attention that was directed her way as she moved to the front doors with the others. She had not known to expect attention from regular people who were no different than her; naïve as it may have been, Felicity had never anticipated that she would become a thing to be stared at.

She was a fool.

Felicity was a blind, naïve fool, and the hairs on the back of her neck raised at nearly the same moment that something snagged in her ponytail and yanked her head backward with a cruel snap. She gasped painfully as her legs pin wheeled and tried to compensate for the sudden change in direction. Her heels clacked and slid unevenly over the polished floor as her assailant dragged her bodily into their chest. The hand that had been in her ponytail latched on to her throat as the muzzle of a gun was pressed against one of her kidneys, and she knew that this time the click of that gun would accompany a bullet.

"There's a pretty price on your head."

Aaron. Felicity had only heard him speak a few sentences, but she knew it was him. The bodyguard who had joked with Thea and smiled warmly at Sara was now holding a gun against her back. She swallowed and hated the way Aaron's heavy hand moved slightly with her Adam's apple as she did so.

"Why?" Felicity asked. She knew why.

"You have something that De Luca wants," Aaron hissed. "And he has something you want."

His words made her heart spin like a top in her chest. Her father knew about the information that she'd stolen. How? Had she tripped some sort of alarm in the computer system when she copied the files onto the thumb drive? Did he have another hacker that had found the trail she'd rushed to cover? Had … had he done something to her mother until she'd given up the information? No. Felicity dismissed that thought quickly. She hadn't told her mother about her plan to steal the files for exactly that reason.

Motion caught Felicity's attention. For the first time since Aaron had grabbed her ponytail she became aware of her surroundings. The ground floor of Queen Consolidated was empty, and her brain struggled with that fact first. Where had everyone gone? When had they gone?

"Let her go."

That was Oliver. Felicity had forgotten all about him, and his sister and Sara – both of whom were nowhere to be seen. Oliver was less than twenty feet from her and standing perfectly still with his hands at his sides. His expression was blank but Felicity thought that she saw a tick in his jaw as his eyes wavered from Aaron to her. Oliver was so calm, and she thought again of how solid his presence had been in that elevator and how she'd gravitated toward him. What Felicity would give for that same steadiness in her.

"How is it," Aaron called to Oliver, "That the daughter of a known mob boss ends up a thousand miles away and married to a billionaire?"

"Is that what you want? Money? A ransom?"

"Yes," Aaron answered.

"No," Felicity said. She made her voice carry as far as it would when her windpipe was at the mercy of a cruel hand. "He works for De Luca. He thinks I have …" The end of the sentence was cut off with a choked gurgle as Aaron pressed the expanse of his palm sharply into her windpipe.

Felicity heard sirens wailing in the distance.

"My orders are to bring you in alive," Aaron told her. Behind her, the gun cocked. "If I can."

Motion caught her eye again. She didn't turn her head but she strained her eyes trying to see as clearly as she could out of her peripheral vision: the motion was a person. Felicity looked back to Oliver, who had not moved.

"Your mother says hello."

Felicity had only had one lesson in self-defense with Sara. She knew nothing of martial arts outside of what she saw in the media; she'd never been in a physical fight in her life. The survival instinct that underwrote her existence knew nothing of these facts, however, and did not care what she was lacking. The will and fierce driving need to keep breathing – to fight for her life and her freedom – broke over her like a cresting wave.

Felicity locked her eyes on Oliver's face and drew one leg up into the air. With as much force and speed as she could muster, she drove her foot and the sharp stiletto heel that covered it down into the space where she thought (and hoped) that Aaron the bodyguard's foot rested. Her mind didn't have time to register the thought that she had missed before her foot met resistance; memories of dark laughter and the click of empty guns being fired gave her the resolve to follow through with the motion. Felicity could feel the pop of skin and muscle vibrate through her shoe and into her heel, but she would vomit over that later.

Aaron howled. The shock of pain made his hands convulse: the one on her throat squeezed and the one with the gun jerked and dragged the muzzle across her back until she couldn't feel it anymore. In a blind panic, Felicity raised her foot again and kicked out behind her. She struck something and lunged as soon as she felt the resistance, throwing herself against the hand at her throat and away from her attacker.

A dark mass passed her as Aaron's hand fell away and she catapulted forward. Felicity threw her hands out in front of her as she crashed to her knees and then a gunshot rang out; the span of a breath passed in which she thought that it wasn't a gunshot at all, but the sound of her kneecaps shattering as they met the floor. Then there was another gunshot, and silence.

"Felicity."

She flinched. A hand crept into her line of vision and Felicity turned her eyes on it. She followed the long fingers up over an arm covered in a gray sleeve, and then up, up, until she was looking into Oliver's face.

"Hey," he said gently.

Felicity sobbed once and then tried to swallow the sound. Oliver moved his hand slowly until it was cupping her cheek.

"Shh, it's all right. You're safe."

He was so put together, even now, and even though she could see a spot of blood blooming on the bicep of his other arm. "Oliver, you're shot."

"Hey, it's nothing."

Felicity wrapped her hand around the wrist of the hand that was pressed against her cheek. Oliver's pulse was rapid but steady and she tried to focus on counting the beats.

"Come on." Oliver dropped his hand from her cheek but didn't dislodge her hand from his wrist, or balk when she let it slip down and twine with his.

He helped her to her feet. Felicity made a great effort to look away from the floor; instead of seeing the building or Aaron – wherever he was and whatever had happened to him – she saw only Diggle. He had been the motion in the corner of her eyes.

"Stay still," Diggle told her kindly. "The police and EMT's are almost to the doors behind you. They'll be loud, but they won't hurt you, okay?"

Felicity nodded and watched mutely as Digg safed his weapon and then hit the button that released the magazine. The doors clanged open then and she threw her hands automatically into the air even as the police officers barked commands to do just that at them.

"Oliver?" Felicity's voice wavered.

"Yeah?"

She breathed deeply to ward off the bile that was trying to rise up her throat. Her knees ached fiercely and one of her high heels was probably coated in honest to God blood; Diggle's position in front of her undoubtedly blocked her view of a dead body. If she gave any of those things more than a passing thought she was certain that she'd start screaming until she lost her voice.

"Your office building really sucks."


	10. Chapter 9

_**AN: some good Olicity interaction in this one, as requested. ;)**_

* * *

><p>"You're a pain in my ass."<p>

"Afternoon to you too, Detective Lance." Oliver turned his gaze over his shoulder to where the detective stood at the bumper of the ambulance.

"Let's be clear, Mr. Queen. If that man was sewing up a bullet hole in Sara's arm and not yours, we'd be having a much different conversation."

"We're having a conversation?" Oliver deadpanned. "And here I thought you came over just to threaten me."

"Don't make me arrest you, Queen. I hate doing paperwork."

The paramedic who had been quietly stitching and bandaging Oliver's arm set down his instrument and peeled off his gloves, drawing Oliver's attention.

"You're free to go, Mr. Queen."

"Thank you."

Oliver slung his suit jacket and shirt over his shoulder and climbed out of the ambulance. There was a small orange spot on the short sleeve of his undershirt – iodine, probably – but that and the bandage over his stitches were the only indications that this had not been a regular day for the Queen family patriarch.

"Where do you think you're going?" Quentin Lance groused when he started to walk.

Oliver didn't answer. He cut through the knots of paramedics and police officers that had gathered outside of the Queen Consolidated building with ease as Detective Lance followed closely behind him. He ignored the other man's presence and cast his eyes about in search of Digg, but he didn't change course. His friend would find him eventually.

He stepped around the back of the ambulance he'd been headed for and set his eyes on Felicity. She was grimacing and rolling her neck slowly from side to side, and had one hand massaging the muscles there.

"Hey," Oliver said softly. He cursed himself mentally for not calling out a warning of his approach the way that he'd noticed Sara did. He definitely needed to adopt that habit after today.

Thankfully Felicity didn't startle badly. She raised her head quickly and then groaned when the snap movement pulled at strained muscles. The blonde dropped her head a few inches toward her chest and then angled her chin toward him a little so that she could look at him without actually turning her head.

"Hey," she responded. "Are you okay?"

"Felicity." Oliver's tone was exasperated. "You're the one who was held at gunpoint."

"And you're the one who was shot."

"Cute," Lance interjected dryly. "You two are real cute."

Oliver was about to make a snide remark when a paramedic that he hadn't noticed before stepped out from the front area of the ambulance.

"You're wife is mostly unharmed, Mr. Queen. She has whiplash and some light bruising on her throat."

"She's also right here and fully capable of speaking for herself," Felicity said pointedly.

The paramedic looked genuinely surprised at her ire. "I meant no disrespect, Mrs. Queen. Talking to family members is part of my job."

Chastised, Felicity blew out a heavy breath. "Of course it is. Sorry. I didn't – never mind. I'm sorry."

"No problem, Mrs. Queen. You're free to go."

Oliver held a hand out for her as she stood and made her way to the bumper. Felicity didn't hesitate to slip her smaller hand into his and step down carefully; he thought maybe she would have kept a hold of it if Detective Lance hadn't extended his hand for her to shake as he introduced himself.

"Mrs. Queen, I'm Detective Lance," he said, and his tone was warmer than it had been with Oliver. "Glad to see you're all right."

"Hello, Detective." Felicity shook his hand. "Please, call me Felicity."

"Okay, Felicity. What can you tell me about the incident?"

"She's already given her statement," Oliver interrupted.

Felicity turned her head and then hissed. "Damn whiplash. How did you know that?"

Oliver shrugged. "I saw the officer leaving. And now if you don't mind, Detective, we'd like to go find my sister and go home."

"I've got an officer taking Thea's statement," Lance shot back. "Since it'll be a minute, what's the harm in asking a few more questions?"

"That depends. Are you going to threaten her with more of your conversational skills?"

Felicity scoffed. "You guys are giving me a headache. What is it with you two?"

"Detective Lance is Sara's father," Oliver explained.

At the same time, Lance said, "Oliver dated my daughters. Both of them."

Felicity paused and then started to nod before catching herself. "Uh huh," she muttered. "Well, as intriguing as this verbal sparring is, this has sort of been a nightmare of a day and I'm pretty sure there's, like, two inches of human blood and tissue on my shoe and even just saying that makes me want to vomit, and I'm seriously considering burning these when I get home and that really sucks because I love these shoes …"

"Felicity," Oliver interrupted softly. He wasn't unfamiliar with her rambles, but this one had taken on a note of rapidly growing hysteria.

Felicity tried to nod again and then made a frustrated sound in the back of her throat when she remembered that she couldn't. Her throat felt tight and the air was sitting oddly in her lungs; her eyes had started to burn.

On impulse, Oliver set a hand on her shoulder. Felicity took a deep breath and that shoulder moved under his hand. He recognized her attempt to steel herself and regain control, and the same impulse that had driven him to put a hand on her shoulder made him slide that hand across her back and to the other shoulder. A slight application of pressure had her half turning and stepping toward him until she could rest her forehead against his chest.

Oliver turned his attention back to Lance and asked politely, "Can this wait, Detective?"

Lance nodded. His acerbity had disappeared. "Sure."

Felicity turned her head slowly until her cheek was over Oliver's heartbeat and she could see the detective. "Sorry, Detective," she mumbled. "It was nice meeting you."

Quentin smiled kindly. "You got nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart. I'll call if we have questions."

Oliver watched Quentin Lance disappear into the crowd. Felicity still had her cheek pressed into his shirt and her breathing felt faster than normal, so he didn't move. A moment later he felt one of her slim arms slide around his waist and her hand curl into the material of his shirt.

"Is Thea okay?" Felicity asked. "And Sara? Digg? Where are they?"

"They're okay," Oliver assured her. "Sara got Thea out as soon as we realized what was happening."

They fell silent again. Oliver was not opposed to physical affection, and had been a rather tactile person before the island. Much of that part of his personality had been forgotten or repressed in the years between then and now, however, and so it was a little strange for him to find his arms now full of a small blonde. Having Felicity pressed against him was disarming: they had not touched often in the weeks since she'd arrived, and he was unprepared for how easily it came to him. His fake wife was still a stranger to him, but there was a disturbing lack of strangeness about having his arm around her.

"Everyone hanging in there?"

Oliver turned his head to look over his shoulder. Digg was approaching. He came to stand in front of them, and offered Felicity a small smile when she could see him.

"Fine," Felicity answered. "As long as I don't think about my shoes. Or the gun. Or anything that's happened in the last two hours, really. Whatever, you get the point."

Oliver squeezed her shoulders gently. "Felicity."

The breath she blew out was warm against his shirt. "I'm fine."

"Thea and Sara are headed this way. We're gonna have to face the paparazzi and news crews. Can't get the car in here."

At the mention of the other two women Felicity released her hold on his shirt and pulled away from him. Oliver didn't have time to contemplate why, because seconds after one person had let him go another one was latching on to him.

"Hi, Thea."

"Don't 'hi, Thea' me," his sister snapped. "You got shot, Ollie. Shot."

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you threw yourself at me," he teased.

Next to him, Sara had pulled Felicity into a hug. "I'm so sorry," Sara was saying. "I didn't see him soon enough and when I did I thought he was just going to say something."

"It's not your fault," Felicity answered honestly.

Thea let go of her brother and swatted at Sara's arm until the other woman let Felicity go. For her part, Felicity was surprised when Thea took Sara's place and wrapped both arms around her neck in a tight hug.

"You okay?"

"Freaking out a little," Felicity responded. "And a little sore, but that's all."

Thea was visibly shaken when she stepped back. Felicity remembered the way the young woman had joked with Aaron when they were going through the security checkpoint, and the warm way that he had smiled at her.

"I'm sorry about your friend, Thea." She didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, well, people aren't always who you think they are." Thea was clearly uncomfortable and angry.

"True, but that's not always a bad thing," Felicity hedged. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't thinking that she wasn't the person Thea thought she was either.

"Anyway, why are you apologizing to me? You're the one he attacked. Why _did_ he attack you?"

Felicity's stomach rolled. Why had Aaron the bodyguard – and she really needed to stop calling him that – held a gun to her kidney? Because of the life she'd escaped, and the man who had claim to half of her parentage. Felicity couldn't tell Thea that Aaron must have been part of the Italian mafia, and that he'd been willing to kill her because he was ordered to do so. Well, she didn't know if that was true, really. He'd claimed that his orders were to bring her in alive, but he'd certainly been willing enough to kill her.

_There's a pretty price on your head_, Aaron had said. _You have something De Luca wants._

"Money," Felicity finally answered. It was the truth, more or less. "He wanted money."

Thea made a disgusted sound. "Of course. It's always money."

"What else would it be?" Digg queried with wry amusement.

"I dunno. How about a lifetime supply of, like, kittens or something?"

"So let me get this straight," Sara said, "You want some crazy person to take someone hostage and demand a lifetime supply of kittens?"

Felicity recognized this: it was gallows humor. She'd used it back inside the building to fend off her rising panic, and Thea was probably using it now to do the same thing. The defense mechanism was an old one. What else was there to do when processing an event that felt impossible but make a joke of it?

Only, she knew what other kinds of things crazy people demanded of their hostages: work; and expertise; and skill; all of the things that her bastard father had eked out of her for the last few years.

Without thinking, Felicity said, "I'll be sure to suggest the kittens next time."

Four sets of eyes zeroed in on her with startling speed.

"Next time?" Thea repeated. "What do you mean, 'next time'?"

"Nothing," Felicity backpedaled. "I didn't mean anything. It was just a bad joke, and I said it without thinking, and can we please just go now? I really want to take a shower and get rid of these shoes."

"Your shoes?" Thea glanced at her feet.

Out of all of the things that had happened in the last few minutes – hours, somehow it was the innocent confusion on Thea's face that did Felicity in. She choked out a sob and veritably slammed a hand over her mouth to silence the sound, but it was too late. Her eyes burned and swam as tears fell heedlessly down her cheeks. The panic hit her suddenly, mercilessly, and Felicity bent over and started tearing at the strap of one of her heels. She couldn't stand it any longer.

"Hey," someone called.

Felicity sobbed. Purposely or not she'd chosen the heel that had stabbed into Aaron's foot, and the red smears of his blood stood out brightly against the matte silver stiletto. Her fingers were fumbling too much to undo the clasp on the strap; on the tail end of another sob, Felicity pulled viciously at the heel, but the offending material only dug into her skin and did not break.

"Felicity."

Strong hands curled over her shoulders and pulled her upright. She had to drop her foot to keep her balance and then she was pulled into a warm chest that smelled familiar. Wide, heavy arms banded around her back and pressed her firmly into another body.

Oliver.

She didn't realize she'd said his name aloud until he answered. "Shh, it's okay. I'm here, you're okay."

Felicity couldn't find the words to tell him that she might never be okay again.


	11. Chapter 10

_**AN: college is a pain in my ass. Just in case you were wondering. **_

* * *

><p>Oliver said little on the drive home. In fact, the only sounds other than the almost syncopated breaths of the assembled group were the ones that issued from the radio. Every so often Sara would glance at him as if she somehow knew how tumultuous his thoughts were, and Thea kept trying to covertly check on Felicity - who had closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the head rest as soon as they'd piled into the town car – but no one spoke.<p>

The attack on Felicity had made one thing clear to Oliver: he couldn't leave her in Starling City when he left for Russia in a few days, as he'd originally planned. That put a bit of a dampener on his plans while there, because Felicity knowing that he was Bratva was one thing, and involving her in the Brotherhood in any way was another thing entirely. She would have a measure of safety from them being his wife, but he wasn't comfortable putting her in potentially dangerous situations unnecessarily. Not to mention that the trip itself wasn't exactly a pleasure trip. So Oliver wasn't comfortable leaving her in Starling, but he wasn't comfortable taking her to Russia, and those were his only options.

Then there was also the dilemma that was Thea and her safety. While the attack hadn't been directed at her, she had known the perpetrator and been on a semi-friendly basis with him. Oliver hadn't had a chance to talk to Felicity privately yet, but he did remember her saying that the bodyguard had worked for her father. An operative of the Italian mafia had been on a first name basis with his sister, and Oliver had no way of knowing if their fledgling friendship had been an intentional play or not. Felicity's attacker was dead and Oliver had no way of asking him if De Luca knew of Thea and had instructed him to get close to the youngest Queen. From here on out he had to operate under these beliefs: that De Luca knew where Felicity was; that De Luca was willing to do anything to get her back; and that everyone – including Thea – was now in the line of fire.

The rabid media hounds were lined up along the drive to the front gate of the Queen mansion when they pulled through. Oliver spared a moment's thought for how he would have handled that as an irresponsible young man – he might have added peeing on a paparazzo to his count of peeing on a cop car – and felt lighter for a moment. Then he thought of the person that had been his partner in crime in those days and that momentary lightness disappeared.

He missed Tommy Merlyn.

The town car rolled to a stop.

"Felicity? We're home," Thea announced gently.

Felicity opened her eyes and lifted her head. She blinked hard and looked out the window before offering Thea a watery smile.

They piled out of the car one by one and headed to the door as a group. Felicity walked close to Oliver's side without seeming to realize that she was doing so, and no one called attention to it.

Felicity cleared her throat as they stepped into the foyer. "I'm gonna shower," she announced.

The others nodded, but Sara stepped forward and shucked her chin at the stairs in a silent invitation to lead the way. Felicity looked at her for a moment as if deciding whether or not she wanted the company, and then wordlessly started for her room with Sara by her side.

Thea turned her eyes to Oliver when they were gone. "Guess you're gonna go make business calls or something, huh?"

Oliver studied his sister. Without warning he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his chest so that he could press a kiss against her forehead. Thea wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I do have to make a few calls," he said after a pause. "But you can come sit in the office with me if you want. I bet we can even get Raisa to make us some of those turnovers you like."

"You mean the turnovers you like," Thea countered.

"Tomato, tohmahto. You like everything Raisa makes."

Thea rolled her eyes. Oliver smiled and made eye contact with Digg over his sister's head. One look was all it took to get Digg to nod in understanding and move away, and then Oliver led Thea into the home office with one arm still around her shoulders.

* * *

><p>Thea had already gone to bed by the time Sara found him in the office. Oliver was idly tapping one end of a pencil against the desktop when her figure shadowed the doorway. He raised his eyes to her and watched as she leaned one shoulder against the doorframe and crossed her ankles. Neither of them spoke immediately.<p>

This was one of the things that Oliver enjoyed and appreciated the most about his relationship with Sara. They understood each other well. Sara Lance was one of the few people in his life that Oliver was always certain of; they knew how to fight together, how to survive together, and even how to live together. Being around Sara was easy and uncomplicated.

"I never thought I'd say this," Sara started quietly, "But sometimes I miss the island."

Oliver sighed and nodded minutely as he leaned back in the leather office chair.

"It was easier. In some ways," he agreed.

"It was honest." Sara pushed herself off of the doorframe and crossed the room to perch herself on the edge of the desk next to him. "At least we knew that it was live or die."

"I don't think Felicity is under any illusions there."

Sara tipped her head to the side then, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. "I was talking in generalizations. You're attracted to her."

"What?" Oliver asked in genuine surprise.

"You're attracted to Felicity," Sara restated. "Your thoughts went straight to her."

Oliver clenched his jaw in annoyance, but he couldn't say why. Was he annoyed at Sara, or the implication that he was attracted to his fake wife?

"Or maybe I thought you were referring to her in light of recent events."

Sara's features softened and she smiled lopsidedly. "There's nothing wrong with being attracted to her, Ollie. I'd be more surprised if you weren't."

"Whether or not I am doesn't make a difference, Sara. The last thing Felicity needs is one more problem on her plate."

Sara slapped his arm with little force and a lot of joviality. "Now I know you like her," she teased. "Being all noble and caring about what's on her plate."

Oliver leveled a glare at her. The look held for about ten seconds and then gave way to a breathy chuckle in the face of Sara waggling her eyebrows at him. Whereas the island had hardened Oliver and buried much of his humor and levity, Sara had never really lost hers. She had waited longer to return home – thanks, in no small part, to Nyssa and the League of Assassins – but sometimes Oliver felt that, of the two of them, more of Sara had returned. They were both broken, but Sara seemed to have found more of her pieces than he had.

"I don't think I could do it." Sara's voice was quiet and serious again. She only continued when Oliver raised an eyebrow in silent question. "What Felicity is doing, I couldn't do that."

"Yes you could," Oliver replied. "If you had to, if it was your family on the line? You could."

"I hope so. Obviously. But I'm not so sure. Before the island I was … I don't think I was a coward, but I wasn't aware of being brave, either. It takes a lot of courage and blind faith to do what Felicity did, and I don't think I had that. Still don't, probably."

"Blind faith? In what?"

"Hope." Sara shrugged. "People. Luck. God. Take your pick. She drove across the country to blackmail a man she'd never met, and you said yourself that she basically just begged for your help when she thought it wouldn't work. Do you know how terrifying that must have been for her? To believe in the basic humanity and goodness of a stranger who was under no obligation to help her? I'd say Felicity Smoak is remarkable, and we're lucky to know her. Fake wife or not."

Oliver made no reply. He stared at the wall across from the desk and thought of the way Felicity had swept into his office one evening a few months ago, looking for all the world as if she'd just run some invisible gauntlet. He could remember clearly the way she'd asked Digg not to shoot her; the way she'd stood so resolute in the face of the impossible and begged him to help her save her mother; and the way she'd trembled even as she'd faced off with him as if she could make him agree to her plan through nothing but the force of her will.

_How do you know I'm not just as bad as this man?_ Oliver had asked.

_I don't_, Felicity had replied_. Call it a leap of faith_.

No one had put that much faith in Oliver Queen in a long time.

"Thea is going to stay with Walter for a while," Oliver stated abruptly. "I realize that protecting her isn't your job, but I'd feel better if you went with her."

"What about Felicity?"

"I'm going to give her a choice, to either come to Russia with Digg and me, or go to Walter's with Thea. I don't want either of them in Starling City for the time being, and I can't put off the trip."

"Walter still in Central City?"

Oliver nodded.

"Of course I'll go, Ollie. You know I love Thea. How long will you be in Russia?"

"Two weeks, unless something else comes up while we're there."

"What reason did you give Thea for going?" Sara asked.

"I told her the truth, mostly. That I needed to make an appearance at the QC offices there, and that I thought it would be good for Felicity to get out of town for a while."

"When do we leave?"

"Two days."

Sara slid off the edge of the desk and gave his forearm a brief squeeze. "Guess I better pack. Unless you want me to stick around?"

Oliver shook his head in the negative. "Go home. Get some rest."

"Night, Ollie."

He watched her disappear out the door. Oliver sat in the still office for a few minutes longer with nothing but the heaviness of his thoughts to occupy him.

Digg popped by to let him know that he'd beefed up the night security detail and done an extra sweep of all the rooms and grounds. Oliver sent him home to Lyla with a tired smile and a lot of wordless gratitude for everything he'd done earlier at Queen Consolidated.

By the time Oliver made his way up the stairs and toward his bedroom he had a headache. The pressure in his head apparently called out an answering twinge in the bullet wound in his arm, and both of those things irritated him.

He was surprised to see, when he was close enough to do so, that Felicity's bedroom door was still open. Oliver had been pacing the office downstairs on a teleconference for several hours and so had missed dinner, but Thea had made sure to tell him that Felicity hadn't come down for the meal either. He should have asked Sara how the other woman was doing before she'd left for the night.

Oliver stepped slowly toward the open door. "Felicity?" he called softly.

There was no answer. He hesitated for the span of a breath and then moved into the room. The only light was coming from the television across from the bed. The screen flashed brightly and when he looked Oliver saw the menu display for one of the Avengers movies. There was no sound so the audio system must have shut itself off after so many minutes of inactivity.

Oliver took another step and found Felicity. She was lying sideways on the bed and fast asleep. Her hair was loose and fanned out over the pillow that she'd crumpled up underneath her head, and the toes of one foot peeked out from beneath the duvet. Her toenails were painted bright silver. There was a tray of half eaten food on the desk against the wall.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. Felicity was asleep and yet still somehow managed to look tired. No, not tired, Oliver reasoned, but weary.

The idea of a world-weary Felicity felt wrong to him. This woman had been living in a state of protracted Hell for – well, he didn't know how long – and had still managed to charm everyone around him within a matter of weeks. The people closest to Oliver were well on their way to adoring Felicity, and he doubted that she had any idea. That she should be so young and so downtrodden didn't sit well with him. Twenty four year olds should be out at hip bars with their friends, or traveling the world, or doing something equally fun and adventurous; they shouldn't be running from crime lord fathers and bargaining for the rescue of their loved ones.

Oliver stepped to the wall and turned off the television and Blu-ray player. He was momentarily confused when the room wasn't plunged into complete darkness and turned to see where the remaining light was coming from. He was shocked to realize that Felicity had left the adjoining door open, and that the light was coming from a desk lamp in his room.

Felicity had never left her bedroom door open and unlocked over night, much less the one that connected their rooms. Oliver stood and stared from one to the other uncertainly. Had she meant to leave them open, or just fallen asleep before she remembered to close and lock them? Should he close them for her?

After much internal debate, Oliver quietly closed and locked her bedroom door. He stepped through the connecting door and into his room, but stopped in the middle of closing that one. A quick look into the room he'd just left showed the faint outline of Felicity's small form under the blanket; she hadn't stirred.

Yes, Oliver was attracted to Felicity. This person who had begged for his help and protection and yet demanded none of his attention intrigued him; he was confused by how easy he found it to be around her, to hold her as if she was more than a stranger. More than that, Oliver admired her. Her physical beauty was no small thing, and yet it was the least of everything that made up Felicity Smoak.

Oliver convinced himself that he was leaving the door between their rooms ajar for Felicity, in case she had left it open on purpose to reassure herself that he was there. He ignored the snide voice in the back of his mind that wanted to ask why he thought his presence would reassure her.

As he set to undressing for the night, Oliver acknowledged that he was starting to care about Felicity. She was quickly coming to mean something to him (never mind that he wasn't certain exactly what that something was), and that was not a good thing. That was a dangerous thing.

The people who meant something to Oliver always ended up hurt or, worse, dead. The last thing that Felicity Smoak needed was a place in his heart.

Not that Oliver thought that was happening, because it wasn't.

Not even close.


	12. Chapter 11

_**AN: So, I found out today that I got the part time job I applied for. That's a good thing for the money situation, but not necessarily for the writing situation. I'm now a full time mother and student with a part time job - I'm sure you can imagine what that does to my free time. I hope you guys will stick with me and this story, but be patient. I can't promise quick updates. **_

* * *

><p>Felicity stretched until her hips and shoulders burned. She couldn't remember having any dreams – or nightmares – but she had woken curled in on herself and laying the wrong way across the bed. When she glanced at her clock she was surprised to see that it was nearly eight in the morning.<p>

The blonde slid to the end of her bed and then crossed to her en suite bathroom to brush her teeth. The smell of fresh coffee hung in the air like a cloud of caffeinated perfection, and she couldn't wait to get downstairs for a cup.

When her teeth were clean and she'd smoothed a hand through her mussed hair, Felicity stepped out of her bathroom to see that the door that adjoined her room and Oliver's was slightly open. Her heart did a thrilling swan dive out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. Felicity was taken aback to realize that it didn't do so out of fear, but something that was close to excitement.

She had left the door open on purpose. Though she knew that the Queen mansion was safe, a part of her had been badly shaken by the attack at the Queen Consolidated building; it had made her feel marginally better to see the open door and know that Oliver would be close at hand while she slept. Felicity had been too tired to contemplate why Oliver's presence would make such a difference.

Now, Felicity found herself approaching the door cautiously and wondering why Oliver had left it open when he'd clearly started to close it. What had stayed his hand? Why hadn't he closed it all way?

She put a palm against the cool wood of the door and hesitated. What if he was asleep? What if he wasn't dressed?

"Oliver?" Felicity called.

A few moments of silence passed before the dull thud of footfalls reached her ears. Felicity took a step away from the door just as Oliver pulled it open. The lines of his face were still softened from sleep and his expression was open, but it didn't appear that she'd woken him. He was also shirtless, which was about four shades of unfair if Felicity was being honest.

Oliver's chest was wide and finely muscled; this close to him, she could easily discern the patchwork of scars and tattoos that decorated his front. The scars looked brutal and yet there was also something captivating about them. Felicity couldn't find them beautiful when they obviously bore witness to such pain, but they were certainly something. Scars like Oliver's would have made another man look terrifying.

Terror was the last thing Felicity felt in that moment.

When she finally forced her eyes off of Oliver's chest and onto his face she felt as though she'd been dropped off of a skyscraper. The air was everywhere but in her lungs, where she desperately needed it to be. They were standing so much closer than she'd first realized, and his gaze was piercing.

Why did his eyes have to be so damn _blue_?

"Everything okay?"

Felicity barely contained the exasperated groan that tried to claw its way out of her throat. _No one_ should sound that sexy. No one should _be_ that sexy; it was cruel.

"I … thank you," she fumbled. "For this." Felicity waved her hand in a small motion that she meant to indicate the open door and realized belatedly that, with Oliver standing in the doorway as he was, she was actually waving at him. Horrified, she tried to correct herself. "Not 'this' as in _this,_ I'm not thanking you for being half naked or anything – not that being half naked bothers me, I just … I meant the door. Thank you for the door."

One of Oliver's eyebrows inched slowly toward his hairline. Felicity closed her eyes and begged the floor to swallow her whole.

Apparently a shirtless Oliver Queen short-circuited her brain. Damn him.

She cleared her throat determinedly and then opened her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she said, "Thank you for leaving the door open."

For a second Oliver merely stared at her. Then his lips parted ever so slightly and a puff of air slipped passed his lips in a breathy chuckle. The grin that lingered in its wake was stunning.

Felicity was calling it now: shirtless, smiling Oliver was a religious experience. She might have to build a shrine.

"I'm glad you're up," Oliver replied. As per usual, he sailed right past her verbal gaffe. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"You do realize that's one of the worst ways to start a conversation, right?" Felicity queried. "If you were my boss I'd think you were about to fire me."

"Never," Oliver answered.

He didn't joke often, but Felicity caught the undercurrent of humor and smiled.

"Thea is going to spend some time with her step-father in Central City. I've asked Sara to go with her."

"Her stepfather?" Felicity repeated, stressing the first word.

Oliver tipped his head to concede the point. "My mother married Walter after I disappeared. He and Thea are close, but he and I didn't interact much. Walter and my mother separated a few months before she was killed."

Felicity nodded slowly. Oliver had been with his father on the Queen's Gambit when it sank in the South China Sea, and he had been an adult when he'd returned to Starling City. This Walter person must have fulfilled a father's role for Thea, but of course he wouldn't have been able to do so for Oliver. Felicity didn't blame Oliver for thinking of Walter as only Thea's surrogate parent.

"So Sara and Thea are going to Central City," Felicity prompted.

Oliver sighed. He moved away from the door and back into the heart of his room, nodding quickly in an invitation for her to follow. Felicity did so. She felt breathless again for a second when she thought that he might lead her to sit on the edge of his rumpled bed – although why that should make her breathless when they'd sat together on her bed was a mystery – but he didn't. Instead, he led her to the couch across from the fireplace.

"Digg and I are leaving for Russia in two days, which is also when my sister is leaving. You have a choice: you can either go to Central City with them, or come to Russia with me."

Felicity stared at him. This was not what she'd been expecting when Oliver had said that he wanted to talk to her. She'd thought that maybe he wanted to ask her about the attack, or if she'd ever seen her attacker with her father, but no. It wasn't that at all.

"Russia," she repeated dumbly. Then, with sudden comprehension she said, "This has something to do with the Bratva, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Oliver didn't elaborate.

"How long?"

"Two weeks, at least. Thea and Sara will probably stay with Walter longer."

She didn't say anything. Two weeks in Russia and in close proximity to the Russian mafia was a terrifying prospect. Icy fingers of dread clawed at her stomach even thinking about it. Felicity had barely escaped the Italians on her home turf, and now Oliver was asking her if she wanted to face the Russians, in Russia? No. No, she didn't; she didn't want anything to do with any of them ever again.

That would be easier to do if she hadn't bargained for a fake marriage to a high-ranking member of their order, or if her Mafioso father wasn't currently holding her mom prisoner. That was the difference, though: she had faced her father alone, and she had been the target. Digg and Oliver would be with her in Russia, and no one would know her as anyone but Mrs. Felicity Queen. She couldn't, in good conscience, tell herself that she wouldn't be a target for the Russians because she had no way of knowing that. Power plays were brutal, ruthless things in such circles. Felicity understood that her title as the Queen matriarch might endanger her as much as shield her in such a situation.

Felicity trusted Sara; she liked her. Logically, though, she knew that her odds were better with Digg and Oliver. They both knew how to fight, and if it came down to it the two of them only had her to protect. If Felicity went with Sara and Thea and something happened, there was only one trained fighter per two people to protect.

Then again, the idea of leaving the country while her mother was still at De Luca's mercy made her feel panicky. Felicity was separated from Donna as surely now as she would be in another country, but the idea of putting a literal ocean between them needled at her. The attack on her had made it clear that Felicity couldn't afford to lose any more time on figuring out how to get her mother away from the Italians. She had to find a way to use the information she'd stolen. The question was whether or not that'd be easier to do surrounded by people who did not know the truth of her situation, or in another country on the doorstep of a rival mafia.

Felicity fixed her eyes on Oliver. He had sat quietly beside her while she considered all of her options, and he returned her gaze without reproach. He didn't appear at all impatient or irritated with her protracted silence.

The realization that she had come to trust Oliver didn't fully settle in Felicity's mind until she asked him, "What do you think I should do?"

Her question surprised him, but Oliver had spent too long cultivating his stoicism to let it show. With perfect aplomb he said, "I think I can protect you better if you're with me."

Felicity nodded as if she'd expected that answer. "I'll find my passport."

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and started to worry it as she stood and made her back to her room absent-mindedly. Maybe Oliver knew someone in Russia that could help her find a way to leak the information on her father; maybe Oliver could think of something that she hadn't.

Felicity was halfway to her room when it occurred to her that she'd never actually asked Oliver for his help. She had asked him to protect her mother in the event that Felicity got her away from De Luca, but she hadn't asked him to help her achieve that goal.

She spun quickly on her heel. "Oliver?"

"Hmm?"

"Will you help me save my mom? I know I asked you to protect her, but that only works if she's here. And I don't know how to give the cops the information I stole without putting my mom in danger, and I don't know how to get her out of danger. I thought maybe you might have some ideas, or know someone in Russia who can help?"

"Do you still have that flash drive with all the information on it?"

Felicity nodded.

"Bring it with you. We can go over it with Digg. And I might know someone who can help."

"Thanks, Oliver."

It was only when she was in the shower an hour later that Felicity realized that she had never considered that Oliver might have refused to help her.


End file.
